


Saving Grace

by Narsil



Series: Chained World [2]
Category: Ranma 1/2, Sailor Moon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Crossover, F/F, F/M, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narsil/pseuds/Narsil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost a year since the Nerima Blowout and for some people, such as Nerima's premier martial artist, it's been difficult to move on. Then a raid on a formerly-Kuno now-Meioh plantation in southeast Asia reveals a secret that threatens everything they've built, and ready or not it's up to Ranma to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shackled and Chained

“If liberty, with us, is yet but a name, our citizenship is but a sham, and our suffrage thus far only a cruel mockery, we may yet congratulate ourselves upon the fact, that the laws and institutions of the country are sound, just and liberal. There is hope for a people when their laws are righteous, whether for the moment they conform to their requirements or not. But until this nation shall make its practice accord with its Constitution and its righteous laws, it will not do to reproach the colored people of this country with keeping up the colored line — for that people would prove themselves scarcely worthy of even theoretical freedom, to say nothing of practical freedom, if they settled down in silent, servile and cowardly submission to their wrongs, from fear of making their color visible....

“Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow.”

  
— Frederick Douglass, speech at the National Convention of Colored People, 1883

* * *

The muggy heat and insects buzzing around him when they weren’t crawling on him weren’t much like the American Southwest desert he knew and loved (okay, the _presence_ of insects was the same, though there seemed to be a lot more of them), but Juan de Oro grinned savagely as he carefully observed the Sumatran plantation house from the undergrowth — undergrowth that was _much_ too close to the buildings. Sumatra was the westernmost island in the province that the Empire of Japan called Daerah Selatan (“Southern Territories” in one of the native languages) and English maps labeled Indonesia. It was also the furthest _east_ that Islam had reached, and the only majority Muslim territory not currently under the official control of Dar al-Islam and so of prime interest to the Sultan. Especially since it wasn’t as Muslim as it had been, thanks in part to the efforts of Shinto Christian missionaries and in part to the suspicious attention of the Imperial authorities to Muslims of all stripes.

But apparently that wasn’t cause for concern for the manager of _this_ particular rubber plantation, whatever the Shogun’s mandate that the Clans controlling territory in the province maintain an effective military presence for its defense. Dar al-Islam seemed to be more interested in its west — Europe and Africa — strengthening the defenses and building up the military there, and it had been a _long_ time since Daerah Selatan’s last internal revolt. Yes, a massive power realignment had recently convulsed the Empire and the new laws everyone knew the Emperor had forced the Shogun to institute — whatever the official line — interfered with the multi-generational debt slavery used by the Clans in Daerah Selatan to provide cheap labor. But in spite of that times were still good and the upper management that had gotten fat, lazy, and careless hadn’t changed in the few months since, not in less than a year.

 _Time to wake them all up,_ de Oro thought. The American — more so than most, half Spanish, half the ethnic mélange called the Apache — had arrived in Sumatra shortly after what had come to be known as the Nerima Blowout (a safe name, one not including words like “uprising” or “rebellion” — something that made everyone happy, _especially_ the Imperial authorities). He had been cautiously optimistic that the “fellow traveler” in the Underground Railroad, one that agreed with the Children of Israel’s goals but felt personally called to a more ... peaceful ... ministry, had been right, that the province was ripe for his type of crusade. He had found that, if anything, his informant had understated the situation. The way that most of the Clans with holdings in Daerah Selatan had promptly started twisting the Empire’s new slave laws to maintain their power had many in the populace ready for open revolt if they were properly led, and Juan de Oro was ready to provide that leadership. He had spent the following almost nine months preparing bases hidden in the jungle, opening lines of supply and communication independent of the pacifistic Underground Railroad, and recruiting and training the first of his rebels (mostly runaway slaves already living hand-to-mouth in the jungle).

But all the groundwork had _finally_ been completed, at least well enough to open the dance, and all he had needed was the right example to get things started on the proper foot. A murderously abusive overseer and a manager eager to hide the crime had provided that opportunity — and best of all, the plantation belonged to Clan Meioh (if you could call a woman, a girl, and a young man/woman and his wife a “clan”).

Then a soft click sounded in his earbug, followed by the voice of Ismail ibn Manzoor, one of the scouts he had watching the road leading to the plantation. _“Incoming vehicles.”_

De Oro sighed. “Trained well enough” was not the same as “well-trained.” He pressed the switch to broadcast in his scrambled channel. “Scout Two, you’re supposed to identify yourself and the intended target of your report. How many vehicles?”

 _“Sorry, Strike One,”_ Ismallah replied, his embarrassment clear even through the distortion caused by the scrambling. _“Three vehicles, the first and last armed with mounted machine guns.”_

“Understood, Scout One, three vehicles.” That sounded promisingly like the usual self-important parade Sugiyama Kenichi, the Meioh manager, liked to indulge in. It wasn’t exactly safe to be walking along the road when Sugiyama made his little expeditions to town — the guards in the lead and tail armored cars liked to use the mounted machine guns to shoot up stray dogs they passed, and since that was pretty much the only practice they got it was usually safer to be the dogs than anything else in the vicinity.

 _God only knows how they’ve avoided killing anyone,_ de Oro thought grimly. He should be happy that his enemies were so incompetent, but that kind of arrogant disregard for others just made him feel sick. _With a little luck, at least_ these _arrogant pricks won’t ever terrorize anyone again._

Then the three vehicles (not trucks but too big and heavy to be cars, not even considering the two with machine guns mounted on reinforced roofs) roared into the circle in front of the plantation house’s veranda. They circled to stop in front, and a large, muscular man stepped out of the middle vehicle. Sugiyama had been an overseer before he’d moved up to management, and he’d kept himself in shape — something common in Daerah Selatan, where majority of the population stuck in debt slavery kept their “betters” from sleeping easy at night, however much they like to put on a show of unconcern. He waited for a moment as a bodyguard stepped out of the other side of his vehicle and walked around to join him, then headed up the low steps and into the house as all three vehicles roared away, around the back of the plantation house to the garage.

De Oro sensed Lesmana, the new recruit beside him tensing up (but then, they were almost all new recruits). “Easy, wait for it,” he murmured, then thought that his overeager newbie probably wasn’t the only one and clicked on his mike, murmuring, “All points, Strike One. Wait for my signal, people, don’t jump the gun.”

Then a couple of large, burly men walked around the house, laughing, military-grade assault rifles slung over their shoulders. More bodyguards, coming from the garage where they’d parked the vehicles. They walked up onto the veranda, leaned their rifles against the wall, and sat in chairs on each side of the large door. Perfect.

“Overview, Strike One. Lock them out.”

A few minutes later, Jason Davidson’s response came back: _“Strike One, Overview. The target is locked out. I repeat, the target is locked out.”_

De Oro’s grin turned shark-lethal — the plantation had just had its communications with the rest of the world cut: landline, wireless, all of it. “Overview, Strike One, acknowledged.” Switching to the all-points band, he snarled, “All points, Strike One. Go! Go! Go!”

Even as he shouted his order he was bouncing to his feet with his own assault rifle in hand, and the two lounging guards on the veranda jerked erect as six men and one woman exploded out of the undergrowth to charge straight at them, screaming like banshees and every one carrying an assault rifle of his or her own.

One of the guards was as stunned as de Oro had hoped but the other recovered almost instantly, grabbing his rifle and springing to his feet. De Oro slid to a halt and raised his rifle to his shoulder to walk a quick three-round burst across the man’s torso from hip to shoulder, knocking him back into his seat and spraying the wall behind him with blood.

That finally shook the second guard free from his shock, and he twisted to reach for his rifle. De Oro tracked him, finger ready on the trigger. _Wait for it, wait for it...._ And then the guard went down as a hail of bullets from the rifles of de Oro’s six compatriots on full auto slammed into the area around him, splinters from the floor and wall filling the air and his blood coating the wall as his rifle spun away.

 _Yes, I_ knew _it would work!_ de Oro exulted. The Empire’s mental Adjustment of its slaves to make them incapable of attacking anyone and violence against their masters under any circumstances had a major hole that, so far as he could tell, he was the first to exploit: the general Adjustment didn’t cover _defensive_ violence except from attacks by the slaves’ owners, and it didn’t care _why_ the slaves were being attacked. So as soon as the guards had become threats by reaching for their rifles, the lock on the six still-Adjusted runaway slaves had ceased to apply. The fact that the slaves in question were carrying rifles while charging the guards screaming at the top of their lungs didn’t matter at all.

At least, that had been the theory. It was nice to see it prove out in practice.

“Places, people!” he snapped as the shooting he could now hear from the other side of the house ended with the crash of the back door being kicked in, to an accompaniment of screams from the plantation’s all-female house slaves. The woman and man at opposite ends of his ragged line turned around to scan the area behind them for threats while the three men in the middle leveled their guns at the house. De Oro glanced over the two corpses, frowning at the one whose blood had liberally coated the wall and chair behind him. “And switch out your magazines.” _Now I just need to get the lessons on using short, targeted bursts instead of spray and pray to stick,_ he thought wryly, as the now shamefaced rebels obeyed.

Satisfied that his own piece of the action was under control, he clicked on his mike. “Overview, Strike One. Have the other strikes reported in yet?

 _“Reporting now, boss, hold on.”_ A few minute’s silence, and Jason continued, _“They’ve both reported successful missions, though Strike Three had three casualties, one dead — the guards at the lab were actually semi-alert. They are delivering their targets now.”_

De Oro winced at the report of the death, but brightened up again with a grin as the house’s front door swung open and the plantation manager was pushed out to stumble across the veranda and roll down the low steps to land sprawling in the driveway. Considering how green most of his people were only one death was actually good news, and shortly the world would again learn that there were limits. “And one of my targets just arrived. Strike One out.”

/\

Though his calm exterior didn’t change when the last, late strike group came around the house, pushing along a stumbling man wearing a lab coat with his hands handcuffed behind his back, de Oro felt himself relax — except for the scouts he’d stationed on the roads leading to the plantation to intercept anyone trying to leave, everyone was gathered together again where he could keep an eye on them. Then he tightened up again when he realized that the squad leader, a black man named George Washington who claimed to be descended from one of the slaves of the Great Man whose name he bore, one of the men that had accompanied him from the United States, was carrying someone wrapped in a blanket in his arms and walking so carefully he was almost tiptoeing.

“Take your places,” George ordered. He walked over to de Oro as one of the squad shoved their captive, Dr. Okuda Keiso, over to the wall and forced him down onto his knees beside the plantation manager, the doctor that had been in the plantation house, and the overseer the second squad had brought in earlier. Another of the squad joined the line of rebels facing the prisoners while the rest spread out and vanished into the undergrowth.

“Miiko?” de Oro asked when George and his blanket-wrapped bundle joined him.

“Her master had another ‘session’ with her last night, she can’t walk yet,” George replied, face tight with anger.

De Oro gusted out a sigh of relief — at least she was still alive. He asked, “Did Doc verify everything?”

George jerked a nod. “Yeah, she was raped. Her owner didn’t leave any genetic material inside her, but Doc was able to identify him by the bite marks he left on her breasts.”

The bundle in Miiko’s arms twitched, and de Oro suddenly wished that they’d switched to English instead of sticking to the Japanese everyone had in common. He sighed, then slowly pulled the blanket back from Miiko’s face. She had the eyes of a wounded animal, but managed to whisper, “H-Hi.”

“Hey, chica,” he replied softly, “give us a little time and we’ll get you safe, if we have to carry you all the way to China.” De Oro doubted she’d know what ‘chica’ meant, but it would not have been among whatever endearments her master might have used. He waited until she gave him a shaky smile, then asked, “Did George explain what we need?”

She jerked a nod. “Y-Y-Yes,” she stammered out, “b-b-but couldn’t you just u-use the m-m-movies?”

“Movies?” He looked up at George.

“That motherless bastard like to taped his ‘playtime’,” George explained. “He had them stored under a password lock, but Miiko saw him type it in a few times and remembered it.”

It was a long minute before de Oro trusted his voice to stay steady. “No, chica, we don’t want to use those, not even with your face blanked out,” he said. “Just a walk-around with a video camera recording what he did to you, too low to show your face is enough. Can you do that? Are you strong enough to stand for a few minutes?” She jerked a nod, and he whispered, “Brave girl.”

He reached out to gently run his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head, and paused. There was something there, hard, plastic. And from its immovability, it was attached to the base of her skull and not her skin. “Chica, what’s this on the back of your head?” he asked.

“What’s w-w-what?”

De Oro stiffened. “You can’t feel this?” he asked, running his finger around rectangular piece of plastic.

“Y-y-yes, I can f-feel your finger,” Miiko replied, her voice rising. “What’s wrong?”

“Shhh, nothing’s wrong,” he replied soothingly. “Just let George take you to get that video shot while I finish up out here, and we can head for safety.”

“I want to watch.”

 _No, you don’t._ “We don’t have time, every minute we’re here puts lives at risk. But we’re recording it, you can watch the video later,” he soothed again, then nodded to George. As his subordinate carefully walked around the back of the house, de Oro watched them go for a moment, _really_ hoping that he’d manage to distract Miiko enough that she never saw the executions. He’d learned over the years that ugly memories were just that — ugly memories — and _enjoying_ the experience just made it worse looking back. _Worry about that later, we have to finish up here, get the recordings uploaded to Jason for distribution, and get out as fast as possible,_ he thought as he turned back to the executions he was about to order.

/oOo\

Nabiki yawned as she watched the attractive news anchor of her favorite American news report on her desktop computer’s monitor before taking a sip of her first morning cup of coffee, one she’d actually brewed herself rather than waiting for Kasumi, thanks to the early hour. She had found that she enjoyed watching the news out of the United States, the different culture often giving an offbeat slant to familiar stories and even occasionally information outsiders with a tradition of wide-open press freedom felt safe reporting. Even when it didn’t, the sheer cheerfulness of the young, often female, always telegenic newscasters as they gleefully reported the most horrendous of stories was an entertaining change from the older, usually male, always sober and serious newscasters of the Empire. Besides, listening to the news in English helped provide more privacy — she suspected she was the only one in the house that understood the language of the eastern “barbarians.”

Of course, she usually _recorded_ the morning news programs to watch them at a more civilized hour (like, _noon_ ), but this morning was different and she listened to Janice Henderson without her usual wry humor engaged. {The workers at the La’a-kea Plantation on the island of Maui awoke to a gruesome sight yesterday morning. The plantation manager, two of the plantation’s overseers, and five co-workers were gagged and crucified to an outside wall of the plantation headquarters, pinned to the wall with knives and spears. While it is early yet, our inside sources report that the initial investigation into the latest and most horrific of a string of attacks on plantation slaves and employees has failed to uncover any leads or even a motive for the crime —}

Nabiki turned off the news program and slouched down in her chair, eyes cold. _So far, so good, the public doesn’t have a clue and the police are as lost on this, at least officially, as they were about the attacks on my people. Well, Ranma’s people, really, or rather_ Tendo Ranko’s _, I’m just the head manager, but who’s quibbling? But for the people that matter, the message should be clear — complain about Tendo Agriculture’s gentle handling of and high wages for its debt slaves and free laborers all you want, engage in petty harassment if it makes you feel better, but killing any of us means ending your life pinned to a wall with knives and a spear through the heart._

Yet again, she wondered whether she should tell Ranma of the lengths she’d had to go to in defense of “Ranko’s” bonanza from the fallout of the Nerima Blowout, but reluctantly deciding yet again that it would be a bad idea. When “Ranko” was finally recovered enough to take an actual interest in “her” corporation would be soon enough.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon. The days of being seriously worried that Ranma would take his own life had ended half a year earlier, when Xian Pu had returned from Nyucheizu with an agreement to provide mercenaries for Clan Meioh (making them allies of the Clan and a part of the Empire, in essence if not officially) along with the ingredients needed to unlock Ranma’s curse. The days of being even faintly worried had ended a week before, and the pageboy-haired young woman felt her mouth curve into a soft smile she never let anyone see as she remembered the way Ranma’s eyes had lit up the first time he held his newborn daughter. Still, the only times the raven-haired young man she’d come to respect seemed to really come alive now were when he was holding little Ukyo or sparring with Ryoga during the Lost Boy’s infrequent visits, perhaps because those were the only two he cared about that he didn’t feel he’d utterly failed. And then there was the way that he insisted on shifting to his busty, redheaded female form whenever he left the dojo —

The musical chime of an incoming call interrupted her ruminations, and Nabiki bolted upright at the sound — that particular piece of music signaled a scrambled live call from one of the most dangerous men in the world (in her opinion, at least, and certainly one of the most dangerous to _know_ ) and she hadn’t been expecting it, or even had the faintest clue why he might be taking what little risk there was in contacting her directly.

She hastily rose to lock her door (and thank whoever for the inspiration to have more soundproofing added when the upper story of the Tendo home had been practically rebuilt after its Nerima Blowout damage, especially Ryoga’s contribution), then sat back down as the chime sounded again and put on her headset before clicking on the button to accept the call. As she’d expected, the new window that opened up revealed the sharp-featured, lightly-tanned-by-inheritance face she’d come to know well over the past nine months, though the view behind him was of night-shrouded lush foliage rather than the usual rough-hewn wooden walls of his hidden base. “De Oro-san, this is a surprise,” she greeted him, tone questioning.

De Oro smiled thinly. “Yes, I thought it would be,” he replied, and Nabiki believed him; he’d helped sharpen her already serious paranoia with his lessons on operational security before he’d left Japan, after all. “So how is Edo’s youngest oyabun, did you get the packet I sent yesterday?”

“I’m fine, thanks, and yes, I did, and already forwarded it on after a quick look-through. The executions will certainly make people sit up and take notice, and the original doctor’s report on the slave that was beaten to death, the falsified report that replaced it, and the recordings he’d made of the manager’s demands that he replace the first with the second will make it clear they deserved it to any but the most closeminded. But it’s your medic’s report on the lab assistant that’s really going to get people’s attention — both because she was just a university graduate paying off her loans, not a multi-generational field hand, and the video you took of what that monster did to her.”

She shuddered as she remembered the camera panning around a girl’s naked body, from her thighs to her collarbone, showing a stomach, back, breasts and buttocks so crisscrossed with thin scars and fresh, bleeding welts that she didn’t think a finger could fit between them, along with the red bite marks on her breasts. “I suspect the reaction of most people is going to be to thank you for taking out the trash, and isn’t _that_ going to make some people in high places nervous? But was it smart to tell the men you were about to execute that they were about to die for violations of the laws of _both_ _God_ and the Empire? And what are those scripture references your people spray painted above the bodies? I was too busy yesterday to look them up.”

De Oro grinned. “Deuteronomy nineteen, eighteen and nineteen: ‘If the witness proves to be a liar, giving false testimony against a fellow Israelite, then do to the false witness as that witness intended to do to the other party. You must purge the evil from among you.’ Exodus twenty-one, twenty: ‘If a man strikes his male or female slave with a rod and he dies at his hand, he shall be punished.’ ” He shrugged. “Mentioning both the laws of God and the laws of the Empire is important; I need people to see me as a religious fanatic to be taken seriously _and_ as someone with limits and not just a mad dog that needs to be hunted down — it means they’re more likely to take my _beliefs_ seriously rather than dismiss them out of hand. What about Meioh-dono? Do you still think she’ll react as hoped?”

It was Nabiki’s turn to shrug, wondering why he was wasting time calling her to rehash everything when he hadn’t even reached safety yet. “As I told you Setsuna’s a hard woman to read, but from the hints I’ve picked up she’s eager to cleanse the Meioh plantation management and just waiting for the excuse to do so without appearing like a crusading reformer—we don’t _do_ ‘crusading reformers’ in the Empire, the nail that sticks up and all that. Well, you’ve certainly given her one hell of an excuse.”

“I did that,” de Oro agreed with a grin, before sobering. “But I didn’t call you just to discuss the ins and outs of our strategy. When we pulled Miiko out of her master’s lair, we found something embedded at the base of her skull, a plastic flesh-colored plug. When we removed it, we found ... I’m not sure what, something like a computer jack, right into her head. I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you have any idea what it might be?”

“A _computer_ jack?” Nabiki repeated, nonplussed. “No, I haven’t a clue. Do you have any pictures?”

“Yes, sending them now. I wanted to make sure they didn’t get mixed in with the original packet, and didn’t have time to explain yesterday.” He leaned forward to reach down out of sight of his laptop’s camera, and moment later Nabiki’s desktop pinged to let her know the folder had arrived and been checked for booby traps and found safe. A few seconds later she had opened up the photos of the back of Miiko’s neck. She frowned thoughtfully, staring at the pictures of the oddity embedded in the girl’s skull, both with the plug in place and removed to reveal what certainly _looked_ like a port for a computer. There was something familiar about what she was seeing, some haunting memory ... She froze as she remembered the report she’d seen just before the Blowout. “Oh. My. God.” _I’ve been around Christians too much_ , she thought whimsically even through her shock.

From the smile that flickered across de Oro’s face the same thought had occurred to him, if undoubtedly from a slightly different angle. “What? What is it?” he demanded.

“I think ... maybe ... that looks ...” Nabiki paused and took a deep breath. “That looks like the neural links I read about almost a year ago.”

“What’s a neural link?”

Nabiki raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t know? They’re being developed in America, after all.”

“I have more important things to do than keep up with every bit of bleeding edge technology that might or might not pan out,” de Oro said patiently. “So what’s a neural link?”

It was Nabiki’s turn to grin for a moment at her successful poke, before again turning serious. “A neural link is an implant that allows you to hook a computer directly into your brain.”

“Why in God’s name would anyone want to do _that_?” de Oro asked, face going a little green.

Nabiki shrugged. “Speed. Convenience. From what I read, the link uses your optic nerves to place images in front of your eyes that no one else can see, and you can give your computer a limited set of orders at the speed of thought.” She chuckled at his dubious expression. “I know, it doesn’t seem like much in return for letting someone crack your skull open and play with your brain; but believe me, there are a lot of hackers that will give their left arms for one of those once they’re sure there aren’t any bugs. And this is just the beginning, the tech is only going to get better!”

De Oro frowned thoughtfully, ignoring his young ally’s growing enthusiasm. “And someone placed one of these implants in Miiko’s head,” he mused. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Nabiki replied. “What did she say?”

“She doesn’t know either, didn’t know it was there. In fact, she _still_ doesn’t know. She can’t feel the implant with or without the plug, put her finger right on it and she says it feels like skin. And every time we’ve told her about it, she’s forgotten everything within seconds.”

Nabiki froze. “She’s been _Adjusted?_ ”

“That’s my guess. If so, what was done to her breaks every law concerning Adjustments the Empire has on the books — even with her consent.”

Nabiki’s mind raced over the resources needed to install the implant, the _fortune_ it would cost, and then the added costs of a rogue Adjuster. And in the back of beyond in the middle of a _jungle_? And her owner had been a _geneticist_ , he wouldn’t have had an interest in neural links, might not even have known about them! “What have we stumbled into?” she whispered.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” de Oro replied, voice cold as the Arctic.

Nabiki straightened in her seat, nodding her agreement. “Agreed. But we aren’t going to find out more without having someone examine her that would know what he was looking at, and at the moment I don’t know of anyone like that, not that I trust that much. Do you?” When de Oro shook his head, she continued. “Until I do find someone like that, Miiko is probably safer at your base camp. Sure, the Imperial Army may be looking for you, but whoever did this will be looking for _her_ , and I doubt they have the army’s freedom of action. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. After the way we pulled her out of hell on Earth, I doubt you could pry her out of my camp with a crowbar ... once we get there, that is. I’ve seen it before, she’ll be as fixated on us as newly-hatched goslings.”

“All right, send me everything you can find out as soon as you can, and I’ll start setting things up on my end.”

“Will do, once we reach the camp.” De Oro nodded and leaned forward and the screen went blank, leaving a suddenly _very_ worried Nabiki to start her own plans.

/oOo\

Konishi Masuhiro finished strapping his pack closed and glanced around the small room that had been home for the past five years to see if he’d missed anything important. He had enjoyed his time on the plantation as an overseer, the chance to inflict the occasional punishment had been appreciated and what some of the female slaves were willing to do to avoid punishment even more so. But he suspected that whoever had been paying him for the last two years to keep an eye on Dr. Okuda and the lab assistant he’d bought wasn’t going to be happy that the scientist was dead and the slave vanished into the jungle.

 _Yes,_ definitely _time to seek my fortunes elsewhere,_ he thought as he decided that he hadn’t overlooked anything and strode out the door into the pre-dawn. Everything had been a mess since the massacre the previous day so he doubted anyone would miss him for hours, or the car he intended to “borrow,” but an early start was best — he wanted as much distance as he could get by the time the reporters showed up. It was a good thing that he’d stored his extra paycheck in a separate account under a false ID, he’d have a clean break to start over.

_Maybe Hawaii? There’re plenty of plantations on the islands, I’m sure someone can use an experienced overseer, and the women on TV are lovely._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Japanese name here for Indonesia, Daerah Selatan,was what they used after capturing the territory during WWII.
> 
> The story title is from the song by Everlast, and the chapter title comes from a song on Bruce Springsteen's latest album. Neither is a perfect fit, but tangentially related.


	2. The Way We Were

_Several weeks later:_

Ikari Gendo leaned back in his office chair, fingers steepled, as Katsuragi Misato stood before his desk in a pose of semi-attention that her time in the military made impossible to eradicate. The chief of Clan Ikari’s black operations hadn’t had an appointment. Normally that would have been a cause for concern, but there was one case where that could be good news instead, and he found himself having to work to keep the flickers of hope her presence evoked off his face. “So, Misato-san, what do you have for me?” he asked, voice steady.

Misato took a deep breath. “Very little,” she replied. “We were able to locate Konishi through the bank account he thought we didn’t know about. We caught up with him in Hawaii and ‘debriefed’ him. Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything to add to what we’d already learned from the video the terrorists released and the official report of the Shogun’s investigators. Thanks to the way that the assault occurred at least a year before our own plan called for a similar event, we were unable to steer those investigators to any of the conclusions we wanted. An Emperor’s Hand was involved as we wanted, but was brought in by Meioh-dono herself to ‘clarify what an expert geneticist was doing in the jungles of Daerah Selatan’, as her publicist put it. We don’t know what the Hand reported, of course, but I very much doubt he drew the conclusions we were aiming for there, either. Our hunters are still searching for the one piece that might have led him to that conclusion, but the terrorists have hidden themselves — and her — well. We have a general area, but it’s a big jungle and the terrorists are better trained than your usual runaway slave. The hunters are either coming up empty or not coming back at all, and we can’t send saturate the area without alerting everyone that someone else is involved. The Army is also looking and we have an ear on anything they find, but at this point we _don’t_ want them finding our missing piece first. I’ve tried triangulating from the locations of the losses we and the Army have suffered, but we’re having difficulty picking out which ones are relevant and which are simply encounters with the bandits and smugglers that infest the region.

“On the bright side, now that Konishi has been accounted for, all links that lead back to us have been eliminated.”

She fell silent, and Gendo sat and gazed at her impassively as second after second ticked by. Finally, when he had his disappointment under control, he said, “That wasn’t much of a report.”

Misato shrugged. “There wasn’t much to report, and you said you wanted continual updates. Though I suppose I could waste your time by piling on inconsequential details?”

As tense as she was, her attempt at being nonchalant fell well short of convincing. But Gendo chalked up another point for his subordinate for the attempt as she passed another of his little tests — there were few subordinates that wouldn’t try to sugarcoat bad news when reporting to him, much less throw his own words back in his teeth (however lightly she’d done it), and he treasured the few he’d found.

After a long moment of singing tension, Gendo said, “Very well. Pull out our hunters; we’ll let the Army do the searching for us; but make plans for acquiring Miiko from the Army if they find her. Have the range of options available tomorrow morning for my approval. And pre-position some agents to shadow anyone ... unusual ... that Meioh-dono sends that way.”

Katsuragi acknowledged her new orders and dismissal, and as the office’s door closed behind her Gendo rose to his feet and strode over to his one-way window. Again staring out over his wife’s ancestral estate, he chuckled grimly to himself. This was getting to be something of a habit — though at least this time he wasn’t beating on the glass. _Of course, that might be because you are getting accustomed to disappointment when it comes to you maneuvers against the Kunos, whatever their assumed name might be. And really, this isn’t_ that _much of a setback. True, you’ll have one less weapon to your hand when the time comes. But however adroitly Meioh-dono has been maneuvering to position herself as the Commoners’ Lady, she has had to greatly reduce the resources available to her new Family as she consolidated over the past year. So that tool’s loss is meaningless—the economic chaos caused by bringing her down is nowhere near what it would have been before._

He snorted as he considered the nickname bestowed by the underground newsfeeds springing up lately on the ‘net — the Commoners’ Lady, indeed! Certainly, the Empire’s newest reigning Lady had managed to gain an unparalleled reputation with the mob, what with her efforts to find all the Juuban residents that Kuno the Elder had sold into slavery and bring them home. Not even the abuses brought to light by the recent terrorist raid on one of the Kuno plantations she’d acquired in Daerah Selatan had dampened the mob’s enthusiasm — those abuses had clearly pre-dated her ascension to noble status, and the investigation she’d immediately ordered into the management of _all_ of her plantations in the province had actually made her even more popular with the common rabble than she’d been before. But so what? When the Sultan made his move in a year or two and Gendo used the chaos to make his own bid for ultimate power, the love of the mob would not save her — or her adopted daughter, the last living person sharing the blood of the man responsible for the death of Gendo’s children and his wife’s ... melancholia.

 _But daydreaming won’t make that day more likely, so back to work._ Gendo turned from the window and returned to his seat, bringing up his spies’ latest reports of the continuing fortification of Dar al-Islam’s western borders, and the reaction of the European Union and the British Empire to said activity.

/oOo\

 _Ranma’s body, naked except for her slave chain and her red hair in a short ponytail, lay stretched out along her long, smoothly muscled lover, one hand wrapped around his engorged cock. Her tongue swirled as her head bobbed in time to her pumping hand. The redhead smiled around her mouth- and handful as her master groaned — from the way that Tatewaki’s hips were flexing beneath her as he fought to keep from disturbing her rhythm, it wouldn’t be long now. He’d even stopped probing into her sopping cleft with his fingers. (Not his tongue, alas, but she’d learned that it_ wasn’t _true that everyone was the same height lying down, not if the height differential was extreme enough.) Instead, his hands had shifted to grip her butt cheeks as he approached his climax._ And I think I know just how to finish him off, _the redhead thought. She’d been practicing, and it was time to see if her latest technique would work as she thought it should. She lifted her head until her lips were kissing the tip of her master’s cock, readied herself to suppress her gag reflex, then plunged downward until her chin was tickled by Tatewaki’s pubic hairs and the tip of his cock was actually pushed down her throat, and she_ hummed _._

_Her master shouted as he lost control, and his abruptly upthrusting hips actually bounced Ranma up off his stiff rod, his milky seed briefly spattering her face before she got her lips back down around his spurting cockhead and hastily swallow until the pulsing flow eased off and her mouthful softened. Suppressing a sigh, she swung a leg over her still-panting master and sat on the bed. She grabbed a damp cloth from the bed’s sidetable and wiped off the milky fluid sliding down her cheeks and forehead and dripping off her jaw, then sipped from the glass of lemon-flavored water to clean out her mouth._

_By now, Tatewaki had realized that she didn’t care for being spattered. “My deepest apologies for so besmirching your fair features,” he murmured, shamefaced._

_She asked, “Ya didn’t get any in my hair, did ya? It’s a pain ta get out an’ Usagi won’t let me wash it myself. Not fair ta her”_

_“Nay, that at least I avoided.”_

_Ranma shrugged. “Then no harm done.”_

_“Truly, your concern for your handmaiden does you honor,” Tatewaki intoned as he sat up beside her. Rising, he swept her up in his arms and laid her back down, stretched out where he had been lying. “Now come, mistress of my heart, let me wipe away my transgression and prove again my mastery of this Art!”_

_“I keep tellin’ ya, I’m not yer mistress,” Ranma said as he spread her legs and leaned down, “I’m yer oooooh!” She lost the last of her thought —_ your slave _— as his lips gently kissed her still-damp cleft. Her hands clutched at her breasts and her legs spread wider as his eager tongue proved again that his claim of mastery in the arts of the bedroom was no idle boast._

 _For long minutes the room was silent except for Ranma’s moaning gasps at the pleasure washing through her from the eager attentions of her lover’s lips and fingers. Then Tatewaki broke off to rise upright and scooted forward, and Ranma grinned in anticipation even before she felt the tip of his again-stiff cock probing at her cleft, pushing apart her engorged nether lips. She barely noticed as Tatewaki lay down across her, his arms pushing her legs back until her knees were almost pressed against her shoulders. But she_ did _notice when he didn’t push his cock into its natural, well-lubricated sheath. He murmured, “Tell me, light of my universe, do I bring you pleasure? Do you wish me to fill you as nothing and no one else can?”_

 _In the back of her mind, it seemed as if a voice was screaming that she was a man, that the Adjustment of her sexual leanings was broken, that_ he _shouldn’t be wanting,_ needing _her master to stop teasing her and_ do _it. But that night Tatewaki was in a playful mood, and as a result had been expertly playing her body like the finely-tuned instrument it was ... and not once had he allowed her to_ get off _! “Yes, yes, yes!” she shouted. “Now shut up and_ fill _me! Do it!”_

_He chuckled warmly in her ear, then with one hard thrust of his hips, he did._

/\

Ranma shot bolt-upright in the bed he shared with his wife, gasping for breath. He wasn’t locked in his female form, wasn’t a slave, wasn’t in the bedroom _she_ had shared with the last Kuno lord, and it wasn’t their last night together ... the night before the Nerima Blowout, when _she_ had killed the man that had so obsessively loved the twisted product of his delusions that he saw when he looked at her.

And the cooling coating of sweat that had him beginning to shiver in the cool air of a Japanese winter night wasn’t from fear. Neither was the iron-hard state of his cock tenting his blanket, or the _need_ filling him as he remembered the lithely muscled body and handsome face of the man that for some weeks had owned her, and what he had done to her that night. The Mentalist’s mind games during the Nerima Blowout had fucked him up but good — at least, Ranma _thought_ they had. He didn’t think he had found Tatewaki attractive at the time, just like he was sure he hadn’t found men sexually attractive before that night the same way he had after — to the point that after the first walk about town after the curse was unlocked he’d refused to leave the dojo with its all-female occupants except in his redheaded female form. But his mind insisted on remembering it differently.

Regardless, that didn’t change what he needed now if he wasn’t to spend the rest of the night frustrated and sleepless, and he rolled out of the bed, made sure that the blankets were tucked around his still-sleeping wife, and shrugged on his robe. He quietly padded over to the crib in the corner of the room and smiled down at the tiny form of his and Akane’s sleeping baby daughter. He reached down to run a gentle finger along little Ukyo’s cheek before turning for the door. He failed to notice the way his wife’s cracked-open eyes tracked him as he silently slipped out.

/\

In the first floor inner bath with its furo, an again naked Ranma dumped a bucket of cool water down his chest, transforming himself once again from his smooth-muscled, raven-haired male form into the girl of his dream. She shivered slightly, but only for a moment — within a few weeks of his return to the dojo (or rather, _her_ return, with the curse still locked) Kasumi had taken to keeping the furo full and hot except when she gave it her regular scrubbing, and with the coming of winter that heat made the room the warmest nighttime place in the house. The eldest still-living Tendo hadn’t said anything, so Ranma had been free to pretend that it was because they suddenly had more money than they’d ever need and not because of Ranma’s uneasy nights.

The petite redhead stepped in front of the mirror, looking over the body of her dream — sleek muscles, firm breasts that proportionately would have suited a body inches taller than her own, areolas already crinkled tight with lust thanks to the dream that she couldn’t forget, not yet. And she could feel herself dampening between her legs as that memory had its inevitable effect there, as well. But she’d figured out a way to banish the Mentalist-corrupted memories, at least for awhile.

She sat on the floor with her back against the wall, closed her eyes as one hand played with a taut nipple while the fingers of the other moved lower over the red bush of her mound to slip and probe between folds rapidly going from damp to wet. She moaned at the sensations as she brought new images to mind for her mental counterburn, of a very female lover ... but not of her wife. Once, months after Xian Pu had left and they had begun to wonder if she was ever coming back with the necessary ritual components to unlock the curse, Akane had insisted that they try more than just sharing a bed for sleep, hoping that it wouldn’t matter if the curse wasn’t unlocked. It had not gone well — as Ranma had feared, Akane felt no more real sexual attraction to her husband’s female form than she ever had before, Ranma lacked the practice needed to compensate through sheer skill (it turned out there were real differences between being the one giving pleasure instead of receiving), and Akane hadn’t been a good enough actress to fake it however hard she’d tried. So Ranma had no memories of girl sex with her wife, her attempts to replace the lack with imagination were tainted by her memory of their dismal flop, and the memories of their nights of hot heterosexual sex together making up for lost time once the lock had been unlocked just morphed into Tatewaki and ‘Ranko’.

So instead, she imagined a might-have-been, an opportunity she’d missed at the time but had recognized later while she’d been making herself and Akane miserable by torturing herself with what she could have done differently, before Kasumi had sat her down and given her a stern lecture on accepting the past so she could deal with the future. A memory that _proved_ she hadn’t always been attracted to men, however her memories lied now.

_Ranma, naked except for her slave chain and coated with sweat and the leavings of the evening’s lovemaking with her master, flowed to the end of yet another kata and immediately into another, trying to calm her mind’s turmoil with her body’s grace. Her Adjustment was gone. Not just the block on aggressive violence that she had felt break under the pressure of dealing with the slavers that day, but the Adjustment of her sexual preferences, that had allowed her to perform with her male master in spite of her exclusive attraction to girls — and that had faded away without her noticing its absence until that._

_Then there came the sound of something hitting the hallway floor, and a familiar “Ow!” Ranma broke off the kata and turned to find the young blonde slave that her master had assigned as her body-slave, dressed in a lacy black teddy, sitting up and rubbing the side of her head. Usagi pulled herself to her feet, her eyes widening. “Ranko, what’s wrong?”_

_“Wh-what makes ya think anything’s wrong?” Ranma retorted._

_“You’re in the dojo at three in the morning, from the amount of sweat have been here awhile, you’re completely naked, and you obviously didn’t bathe after your time with Kuno-dono. Something is wrong, what is it?”_

_Ranma had been so caught up in her shock and fear that she had forgotten her physical state, and now she felt the heat of a furious blush flashing across her face and down her upper chest even as an arm flew up to cover her breasts and she whirled away from the younger girl. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she muttered._

_Usagi walked up to Ranma and hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Ranko, you didn’t have a nightmare about yesterday?”_

_Ranm shook her head, back still to Usagi. “No, I haven’t been asleep. Usagi, I ... I ... M-My Adjustment, it’s g-g-gone!” she half-sobbed in a rush._

_“You’re a lesbian?” her bodyservant gasped. “You ... you had to force yourself to ... to pleasure our master without the Adjustment to protect you?”_

_But Ranma shook her head. “No, I_ enjoyed _it! And the Adjustment was gone, it was ... was me!”_

_“Oh.” Ranma felt Usagi’s arms circle her shoulders and stomach to pull her back against the younger girl — in spite of the two year difference in their ages, the two girls were the same height. For awhile, Ranma simply relaxed, taking comfort from the offered support._

_Finally, Usagi murmured in her ear, “Ranko, you’ve seen our master naked any number of times, think of one of them, picture it. Does he thrill you, make you shiver, want to caress him, want him to caress you?”_

_Ranma thought about it, thought back to what she’d felt even that very night, and felt hope begin to blossom. Her body slave had a definite point. “No ... no, he doesn’t,” she said after a moment. “But —” She broke off as Usagi broke off her hug to place a hand on her shoulder and turn her around. The blonde placed a hand on either side of her mistress’s head and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. For a moment Ranma froze in shock, and then one arm circled Usagi’s back as the other fell to grip a buttock firming with exercise. She pulled her servant against her as the kiss deepened, her tongue pushing against her inexperienced companion’s mouth, slipping in when the lips parted._

_After several minutes the two girls broke apart, gasping for breath, Usagi blushing. “D-D-Did ...” she started in a quavery voice, broke off, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Did you enjoy that?”_

_Ranma nodded shakily. “Yeah ... yeah, I did.”_

_“Good.” Usagi grinned even as her blush deepened. She stepped back and reached up to her shoulders to slip her teddie’s shoulder strips off. Slipping them down her arms, she slid her only piece of clothing down her torso, her legs, stepped out of it and left the tiny pile of black fabric on the floor as she straightened to face a once again stunned Ranma. Spreading her legs slightly and pushing her chest forward as she crossed her arms behind her back and her blush spread down her neck and across her upper chest, she tried to smile saucily at her mistress. “Like what you see?” she asked in a tone that completely failed at being smoky or sultry._

_Ranma blushed even as her eyes roamed over the marvelous body on display before her: shiny blond hair, smooth skin, breasts not as large as her own (few women’s were, especially when height was factored in) but firm and tipped by tiny nipples even now crinkling tight with arousal, her stomach firming up from exercise, her mound shaved bare and lower lips slightly shiny-damp, long legs also firming up.... Her eyes snapped back up to the clear signs of her body servant’s arousal. In her own inept, clueless way, was Usagi really offering what Ranma thought she was?_

_The redhead stepped forward, a hand cupping the back of the other girl’s head, again pulling her servant against her, her mouth seeking Usagi’s — but this time she lifted her other hand to caress the satin skin of a breast, and exulted as the younger girl’s lips fell open with a soft moan, again giving her mistress’s tongue access to her warm mouth. Ranma dropped her hand down to cup Usagi’s mound, feeling how wet her cleft had become, the way Usagi shifted to press against her hand. She probed up inside that wet heat with a single finger only to pause when she encountered a barrier, then pulled back slightly to look her servant in the eye. “Usagi, you told me once that you wished that Kuno-dono would make a woman outta you ... ‘bend you over the dining room table’, I think ya said. Would you like me to, instead? Tonight? Now?”_

_Usagi gazed back for a long moment before jerkily nodding, whispering, “Please, yes....”_

“Usagi-chan....” Ranma breathed out as her fingers probed deeper into her now-sopping cleft, then clenched her jaws to hold in a room-shaking shriek fit to wake the house as her suddenly exploding orgasm tightened every muscle until finally releasing her, leaving her limp and gasping on the cool tile floor.

Eventually, Ranma rolled over and forced herself to her feet. _That_ should have done it ... get cleaned up, a bit of a hot soak in the furo, and he’d be able to snuggle back into bed next to his wife and actually sleep through the rest of the night. With luck, he might have as long as a week before he next dreamed of Kuno.

As she filled the rinse bucket before sitting on the stool, she didn’t notice the door to the outer bath silently sliding shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from the song by the same name by Barbara Striesand. Not an exact match, but kinda....


	3. This Is Where

_“Usagi-chan....”_

Akane watched through the cracked open door to the furo as Ranma’s orgasm exploded through her. For long moments the naked red-haired young woman that was her husband half-lifted off the tile floor on which she lay, jaw clenched and every muscle tight, wet-shiny fingers buried in her cleft, before collapsing limply to lie there gasping. Finally, Ranma rolled upright and grabbed the rinse bucket, and Akane silently slid the door closed.

Ignoring the sounds of splashing water that she assumed was Ranma rinsing off her pleasure-sweat, Akane put her back to the wall and slid down to the floor, anger raging through her and shaking her so hard that she was unable to stand even as tears rolled down her cheeks. It just wasn’t fair!

Before Ranma’s enslavement and Kuno’s death it would have been Ranma she had blamed, one more excuse to keep her fiancé at arm’s length so the fathers wouldn’t call for an immediate wedding. But now the fathers were both dead: her own blade sending her father’s head rolling across the dojo floor when she acted as his second when he committed seppuku to buy his daughters time and Uncle Genma going down under the knives of Kuno Family ninjas as he fought for the lives of his wife and Akane’s sisters. And since she had insisted Ranma marry her weeks before Xian Pu had returned with the needed ingredients for unlocking his curse, Akane and Ranma’s first wedding anniversary was only a few months away.

No, the one she ached to rend and beat and tear at was the one that had treated her husband’s mind like his own personal playground. Not that that was any more productive than being angry at her husband, seeing that the Mentalist was as dead as the fathers. Though if she could she would have resurrected him from whatever unmarked grave his corpse had been tossed into and given him a _much_ more protracted and painful death than the broken neck that Ranma had inflicted.

“Akane, Ukyo’s getting restless.”

Akane realized that she’d tucked her head between her upraised knees, and looked up to find her oldest sister standing in the door leading to the hallway.

Kasumi, at least, seemed to be hardly affected by everything that had happened. True, she had gone into hysterics once they’d safely reached the hospital after the attack on the dojo and had been on a prescription for months afterward. But she had risen to the challenge of meeting the needs of a household haunted by guilt and fear — when Nabiki had thrown herself into her new duties as the manager of ‘Ranko’s’ new estates with such grim determination that they’d been lucky to see her twice a day at mealtimes, Kasumi had been the one to insist she make room in her schedule for an exercise regimen and some family time. By now, Kasumi was once again her previous serene self ... and no one had mentioned anything to Akane about noticing that when Kasumi returned from the weekly visits to a local gun range that she apparently believed no one knew about, she was even more quiet than usual. Or about the revolver she had hidden in the kitchen, for that matter.

Then Kasumi’s words penetrated, and Akane’s anger guttered out like a candle. She hastily rose to her feet as she wiped at wet cheeks, and Kasumi stepped aside as she hurried from the bathroom. The current head of the Tendo family put up the ‘occupied’ sign on the inner door and slid the outer door closed before following her sister down the hallway toward the stairs.

/\

A few minutes later Akane, sitting in the chair by her bed gazing down at the baby in her arms, shivered at the sensations coursing through her from her daughter’s eager sucking at a nipple. Those sensations were nowhere near as strong as what she’d experienced again a few nights ago when she’d convinced her husband that she was _finally_ recovered enough from the birth for sex, but they were close enough that she’d found them disturbing until Kasumi had informed her that they were perfectly normal for breastfeeding mothers. Now, she just found them embarrassing.

“Akane?”

Akane looked up at Kasumi, sitting on her bed. Her older sister hadn’t said a word when they’d gotten back upstairs, simply invited herself into the bedroom that had been Ranma and Genma’s and was now Ranma, Akane and Ukyo’s. She’d sat quietly on the bed, waiting patiently while Akane had seen to her fussing daughter, but apparently her patience was at an end.

Now Kasumi softly asked, “Little sister, what’s wrong?”

Akane’s eyes dropped back down to her baby. “I’m losing him,” she whispered.

“Who, Ranma?” At Akane’s nod, Kasumi rose from the bed to kneel beside her sister, reaching out to take hold of a hand. “Akane, no! He loves you,” she insisted, “now more than ever, I can tell.”

“I know,” Akane agreed. “But Kasumi … I don’t think he wants to be Ranma anymore. He’s turning into _Ranko_.”

Kasumi winced as her sister’s grip tightened on her hand, even as her mind raced. “Why do you think so?” she finally asked. “I know he doesn’t like to leave the compound except in girl form, but — Akane, my hand!”

Akane hastily let go, blushing as her sister snatched back her hand and rubbed it for a moment, wiggling her fingers to make sure nothing was broken. “Sorry,” the youngest Tendo muttered.

“I’m fine,” Kasumi assured her. “So why else do you believe Ranma wants to abandon his manhood?”

Akane blushed. “Because ... when he masturbates, it’s in his girl form,” she muttered, “while fantasizing about Usagi.”

Kasumi fought through her own blush to ask, “That doesn’t mean you have to lose him. Have you tried to _replace_ Usagi in his ... well, ‘her’ fantasies?”

Akane’s blush deepened as she stammered for a moment, before taking a deep breath. “We ... tried once ... before Shampoo got back. It ... didn’t go well. Kasumi, I _can’t!_ As much as I love Ranma, _Ranko_ can’t be more than a friend.  The best I have in the world, but no more.”

“I see.” Kasumi frowned. “I ... don’t know — about Ranma, I mean. But if you’re right, what are you going to do? Ranma could decide to spend his ... her waking time was ‘Ranko’, but sleep with you as ‘Ranma’. Certainly, the sounds he was making a few nights ago were ... enthusiastic.”

For a moment, Akane thought she was going to faint, thanks to her blush. But she forced herself through it to consider her sister’s words. “Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “I ... really, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She dropped her eyes again, hoping that her often surprisingly perceptive sister didn’t recognize the lie for what it was, just as little Ukyo stopped sucking at her nipple. Akane concentrated closing up the top of her robe and getting a towel over her shoulder for burping Ukyo, then looked over again at her sister. “Kasumi, what about you?”

“ ‘What about you’ what?” Kasumi asked. “Me and Ranma? He’d never accept it.”

“No, what about your future?” Akane said. “You’re already older than most girls when they marry, it’s not fair for you to just … just be our housewife without even being a wife. You deserve better than that.”

“Ah.” Kasumi considered her sister for a moment before shaking her head, smiling gently. “Thank you for caring, but there is no need to be concerned. I am happy to continue as I am.”

“But what about a family of your own?” Akane insisted. “You’ve been marvelous with Ukyo, you deserve your own home and family. Don’t you _want_ children, a husband, what a …” Blushing furiously, she forced herself to continue, “… what a _man_ can give you, do for you? Or a woman?” She didn’t _think_ her sister swung that way, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure.

Now Kasumi was giggling, as she shook her head again. She said, “Not everyone is as … _physical_ as you and Ranma. I have proven quite capable of seeing to my own needs, and have never really felt driven to find a man of my own — or a woman. As for children, while Nodoka will not approve, I do not think you and Ranma will throw me out of the dojo when I have one out of wedlock … or perhaps two. I’ll just need to find a good man willing to, ah … ‘cooperate’.” Glancing slyly at Akane, she asked, “Do you think Ranma would be willing to help out?”

Akane opened her mouth to furiously denounce the idea, then paused. This was Kasumi. The last thing she was going to try to do was take Ranma away from her. Besides, it wasn’t like Akane wasn’t ready to give Ranma away, if that was what it took to make him ... or _her_ ... happy. Finally, she said, “You’ll have to ask Ranma, but I think Ukyo would love to have a cousin or two for playmates. Just don’t wait too long, or there’ll be too big an age difference.” Then it was her turn to giggle as Kasumi’s jaw dropped in amazement at her agreement. Deciding that Ukyo had been burped enough, she rose to her feet and walked over to the cradle. “It’s late, Kasumi, go back to bed and get what sleep you can before Ukyo’s _next_ demand to be fed.”

Kasumi shook herself free of her shock and rose to her feet, made her goodnights, and left for her own bed as Akane laid Ukyo down.

Straightening, Akane tiptoed to her bedroom door and eased it open, listening as Kasumi’s door clicked shut, then closed her own door again and turned to sit in front of the bedroom’s new computer console. She had a call to make, and while her husband liked to soak in the furo for a while after one of his dreams her window of opportunity was limited. Quickly bringing the computer to life, she hesitated for a long moment before she straightened in her seat, took a deep breath, and brought up the vidphone function. Less than a minute later the Tsukino family wallpaper vanished to be replaced by the image of ‘Ranko’s’ former body slave, bleary eyes framed by sleep-tousled blond hair.

Stifling a yawn, Usagi demanded, “Akane, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yes, I do, and I’m sorry,” Akane apologized, “but I needed to talk to you privately and this is my best chance. Usagi, it’s been almost a year, it’s time you stopped making excuses not to visit. Ukyo need’s to actually meet her Auntie Bunny.”

/\

Usagi sighed and rubbed at tired eyes as she leaned back in her chair. Maybe she could blame the way Akane had rolled over every objection she’d come up with on the interrupted sleep after a long day of training. In truth, she hadn’t tried all _that_ hard, had even gotten the other girl to laugh when she’d objected to interrupting her samurai training — with a visit to Nerima of all places, much less the Tendo Dojo! Beyond wondering why Akane wanted her to visit now and to claim the idea as her own — a reason the older girl had refused to disclose, saying it had to wait until she arrived — she’d been feeling more guilty every time she’d refused yet another offer to visit. Still, the need to see Ranko ... Ranma again haunted her dreams, and she’d liked Akane when they first met, and that liking had only grown stronger through their ongoing exchange of emails and vid calls. Yes, she missed them both. But ... _But you just can’t stomach the thought of seeing them both ... together._

Still, now that Akane had forced the issue what Usagi mainly felt was overpowering relief — and even _that_ carried its own burden of guilt, because the primary driver of that relief was how the trip would allow her to get away from her family for awhile. It wasn’t her father’s fault that the two years of slavery had destroyed his career, or her mothers’ that the years of being a kitchen drudge had made her silent and withdrawn. And while her brother’s decision to drop out of school and run with one of the street gangs now infesting Juuban was his own, his anger constantly bubbling under the surface wasn’t his fault, either — she didn’t know what had happened to him during the years he’d spent as a field hand, but her suspicions gave her nightmares. And she was so _tired_ of being the happy, cheerful morale driver of the family. Almost the only real breaks she’d gotten were the occasional missions with the other Senshi, and those were just a different kind of pressure cooker. Though at least she got to meet Makoto and Ami during them and Minako was kinda cool, and they’d actually been able to hang out together a few times….

 _Buck up, ‘Bunny’,_ she thought as she stood up to return to her own bed. M _aybe Pluto will tell you that there’s an imminent mission and you can’t do it.  Then you can go back to just feeling stressed instead of stressed and guilty. You’ll have to call her first thing in the morning._ Then she paused, struck by a sudden thought. Some of Pluto’s summons for missions had come in the middle of the night, so why shouldn’t she return the favor? Considering her reputation for being a bit of a ditz (a reputation she fostered these days, both for morale purposes and as camouflage), the Senshi of the Future would probably just pass it off as Usagi being Usagi.... She grinned as she turned back to the console and again brought up the vidphone function.

A few minutes later, the soft music of Setsuna’s personal waiting pattern broke off as a voice growled from the blank screen ... but not the one she’d been expecting: “Usagi, this had better be good!”

Usagi gasped. “Haruka?! What are _you_ —” Then she froze as she suddenly remembered. She wailed, “Oh, no, I’m sorry, I forgot you and Michiru had moved in with Setsuna! Did I wake up Hotaru?”

Her screen lit up to show the androgynously pretty Outer Senshi, haruka’s short platinum blonde hair sleep-tousled. But the older woman was chuckling as she shook her head. “Got a little overeager to have some fun with our fearless leader, did you, Bunny? No, you didn’t wake up Hotaru. Hold on a moment while I get Setsuna so you can properly poke her.”

/\

A few minutes later, Setsuna returned to the bed she now shared with Michiru and Haruka to find her lover of the past year still awake.

“What was that about?” Haruka murmured sleepily, an arm circling the millennia-old woman as Setsuna happily spooned up against her.

“Our princess has been ordered by Akane to visit the Tendo Dojo, and wanted to know if there were any upcoming incursions that would get in the way. I couldn’t tell if she was happy or upset when I told her we had a clear board.”

Setsuna felt the warm breath of Haruka’s chuckle on her neck. “How cute, our princess is growing up and learning life is complicated. Is she going to get her prince now?”

“The first steps, at least.”

“Rei and Mamoru will be happy, as much for her as themselves — still, anything that keeps Usagi away from her last life’s prince ...” Haruka said through a yawn.

Setsuna murmured back, “Go to sleep, ‘ruka, we’ll gossip in the morning.”

She felt the warmth of another chuckle, but Haruka fell quiet and her breathing soon fell into a sleeping cadence.

But Setsuna found sleep elusive for a time, as she considered Haruka’s comment about their princess growing up. _No, lover,_ she thought to herself, smiling at the usual spurt of joy the descriptive brought. (She was still amazed that, after all the millennia alone, she could apply that title to anyone at all and _mean_ it, much less to two girls as wonderful as her tomboy and ‘debutante’.) _Our princess grew up in a blood-drenched room almost a year ago — now, it’s just a matter of experience. At least she’s finally getting something positive from that mess, not just a well-hidden grim determination to never be that helpless again._ She finally drifted off to sleep herself, her dreams a happy mix of the various minor variations of the Princess’s homelife to come that the Time Gates had shown her over the past year, as the future had shifted slightly with the vagaries of humanity’s combined choices.

/oOo\

Miiko lay on her back on a tarp spread out in front of her rude cabin at the edge of a jungle clearing, the trees dark shadows bracketing the night sky. The earlier rain had lifted and the clouds cleared away, and the stars were out.

In the weeks since her arrival at de Oro’s hideaway, Miiko had come to appreciate the stars like she never had before. Stars didn’t look at her with pity, or treat her like a child, or get uncomfortable in her presence. Stars didn’t make her violently flinch away if they brushed up against her. Stars didn’t refuse to let her help cook, or feed her anything that needed to be cut because they didn’t trust her with knives. No, stars just spread themselves across the sky night after night, offering their silent beauty in companionship, on those nights that the weather cooperated (most nights, since it was currently the dry season) and yet another nightmare of the serial beatings and rapes she’d suffered under her now-dead master yanked her from her uneasy sleep.

She heard the soft clump-clump of someone wearing boots approaching, and glanced over to see a silhouette that might be the leader of the band of ... rebels? bandits? revolutionaries? crusaders? ... she wasn’t sure how to describe them. But then, she hadn’t been paying very close attention, caught up in her own nightmare since learning that it had taken a popular investigative reporter less than two days from the initial broadcast of the video of her abused body to discover who she was and post the information on his ‘net site, along with college photos and a short biography.

It _was_ Juan de Oro, back from what she assumed was another raid. He was carrying a tarp of his own, and spread it out next to her before lying down to join her in staring up at the stars, all without saying a word. As usual when in his presence, Miiko felt something inside her relax.

For a time the two simply lay there, until de Oro began to speak: “There the wicked cease from turmoil, and there the weary are at rest. Captives also enjoy their ease; they no longer hear the slave driver’s shout. The small and the great are there, and the slaves are freed from their owners. Why is light given to those in misery, and life to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure, who are filled with gladness and rejoice when they reach the grave?”

The words were like no poem Miiko had ever heard, certainly nothing like the ever-popular haikus, but they’d been spoken with a cadence that seemed to add weight, that sank the words deep into her soul — to her shock, the American crusader actually _understood_.

She turned her head toward de Oro, to find him already watching her. She said, “That wasn’t any style that a Japanese would use, but it felt like poetry.”

“It is,” he replied. “It’s from the longest poem in the Bible. It was spoken by Job, a man that knew something of pain and loss. It didn’t help that his wife advised him to curse God and die, and that his three friends showed up to tell him how it all must somehow be his fault, punishment for some great sin he’d committed. Most of his part of the poem boils down to insistence on his innocence, that he didn’t deserve what had happened to him, and a demand that God put him on trial to prove it.”

Miiko looked back up into the night sky. “You’ve seen the responses online to Kuroki-san’s posting of my life story, then,” she quietly said. “Everyone expects me to kill myself — complete strangers, school friends, even my mother when he interviewed her. But you don’t want me to, do you? Did you give the order to keep me away from knives?”

“Of course I don’t want you to kill yourself. I’m a _Christian_ , Miiko — we have our own ugly cultural quirks, but making a fetish out of using our own blood to cleanse our honor isn’t one of them. But more than that, if you kill yourself the motherless bastard that owned you _wins_.”

 _“What?”_ Miiko bolted upright to stare down at the man that had led the assault that had rescued her. “How does he win? He’s _dead!_ ”

“Doesn’t matter.” De Oro gazed up at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Miiko, your master was an example of the worst humanity has to offer, worse even than sadists. He didn’t just want to _hurt_ you, he wanted to _destroy_ you — to make you a weak, broken, self-destructive, self-hating testament to his power over others. Don’t give him the victory by proving he’d succeeded.”

“But ... you’ve seen my scars, even if I could afford it no amount of plastic surgery could get rid of them all. And the teeth marks — I’ll have to dress like a nun to keep people from staring, knowing who I am. And I’ll never be able to go to the beach or use a bathhouse again!”

“No, _do_ go to the beach and bathhouse — the ones that divide the sexes, anyway. I _am_ a Christian.” Miiko surprised herself by giggling, and saw de Oro’s lips twitch at the sound before he continued. “One of the worst aspects of slavery is how _easy_ it makes it for people like your master to prey on the helpless, how it _hands_ them their victims. Miiko, you were in that hellhole for _years_ , and no one was legally obligated to check on you because your master’s payments were on time and in full. So _don’t_ kill yourself, _do_ go out in public. Make yourself a living indictment of your empire’s flaws, and if anyone gets in your face about it spit in his eye!”

Miiko thought of the future he was asking of her — the sidelong glances, the whispers, the silences, the way people would shift away from her on trains, even confrontations. She whispered, “I’m not that strong.”

“Not yet. But you can be eventually, if you want it enough. You can be whole again.”

Miiko stared at him, wide-eyed, and shook as tears began to roll down her cheeks. He spread his arms wide in silent invitation at the sight, and she threw herself into the embrace of the only person in the world that made her feel safe and sobbed out the pain of her years-long living nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from the song of the same name by the Wailin’ Jennys (you can find it on Youtube):
> 
> The wind howls ‘cross the ice floes  
> Send the frozen snow skimming  
> A river on a river hardened over  
> It doesn’t know the way it’s going  
> Is it north or south or westward  
> It just glides across the shoreline ‘til it’s over
> 
> You came for me in fast forward  
> On a claim for something ordered  
> A way through and past the history that held you  
> I’d tell my own story through you  
> Tell it loud to never lose you  
> A moth caught by the flame it cannot measure  
> And there we go again, wishing something bolder  
> Trying to push and pull inside this moment  
> Trying to mold this life within our hands
> 
> This is where the whole world keeps on turning  
> This is where we come undone ... undone
> 
> Will they measure me by branches  
> Count the rings and take my ashes  
> Mark the ground where I fell and carry on  
> Or will we fight against the silence  
> Fill our days with noise and violence  
> Not recognize our hearts when we are done
> 
> There we’ll go again wishing something bolder  
> Trying to push and pull inside this moment  
> Trying to mold this life within our hands
> 
> This is where the whole world keeps on turning  
> This is where we come undone
> 
> We don’t know where it’s going  
> Is it north or south or westward  
> It just glides across the shoreline ‘til it’s over ... ‘til it’s over


	4. Not the Girl They Knew

“Ranma, it’s time to go if we want to be there when Usagi arrives.”

Keeping in the lotus position, Ranma opened his eyes and turned his head to look at his wife, standing in the dojo entrance. He smiled at the sight — Akane had never been less than beautiful to him throughout her pregnancy, however much she had insisted that she looked like a bloated sow, but once she had recovered from their daughter’s birth she had been working hard to get back into shape. The results of her efforts were delightful, and Ranma’s eyes traveled the length of T-shirt and shorts tight enough to outline panties and bra, storing the sight against the trip to the train station.

Akane blushed hotly at his gaze, then grinned. “Come on, Baka, you’ll have plenty of time to sightsee later. We have to hurry.”

Chuckling softly, he rose to his feet and walked over to Akane to embrace her, nuzzling her neck. “Why don’t we let Kasumi pick her up?” he murmured. “She can take Ukyo and we can have some fun while we’re waiting.”

“N-Now, Ranma, Usagi’s _our_ friend, and — Ranma!” Akane slapped a roaming hand away from her buttock. “Not in public!” But she was laughing, and Ranma leaned back enough to look her in the face as he grinned.

“We’re not exactly in public,” he pointed out.

But Akane shook her head as she reluctantly broke their embrace. “Kasumi can see us from the kitchen window,” she pointed out. “And as I was saying, Usagi is _our_ friend, and will be _our_ guest. Now let’s go.”

“Right,” Ranma agreed with a sigh. He stepped over to pick up a water bottle by the wall, and seconds later was running her fingers through her now-damp flame-red hair. “Ready,” she announced as she adjusted the fit of her clothes. She _really_ hoped that the meditation his wife had interrupted helped.

/\

It didn’t. As she walked alongside her wife through the streets of Nerima (now that Akane was recovering, she needed to teach her how to roof-hop), she found her eyes trying to follow every man she passed with a firm butt that moved well. She did her best to keep her gaze centered straight ahead, but the Nerima Blowout had made her a local hero and she just couldn’t ignore the friendly greetings from those they passed. Leaving aside the fact that doing so would make her seem as much a stuck-up prig as Tatewaki had been and Kodachi had pretended to be, many of those calling out their greetings must have been part of the ‘mobs’ that had overrun the slave center, lording government offices and Kuno estate — they _deserved_ to be recognized.

Then the two passed the construction site for the new government offices, and Ranma couldn’t keep her head from turning as they passed, her gaze fixed on the horde of very busy, very _fit_ construction workers.

Noticing where her husband’s attention was focused, Akane said brightly, “It’s good to see the rebuilding, isn’t it? It means now that Meioh-dono has bought and brought home the Juubanites Kuno-dono forced into slavery she can finally afford it.”

Ranma glanced at her, not sure whether her wife actually hadn’t realized that her focus wasn’t on the _building_ , or was offering her an excuse for her wandering attention. Probably the second, considering the way the heat in Ranma’s cheeks suggested that her face was trying to match her hair. Either way ... “Yeah, Usagi’s been gushing about how great it is seein’ all the folks she knew comin’ back.”

Akane’s smile faltered for a moment. Ranma’s description of their friend’s behavior was accurate, but she suspected Akane hadn’t missed the forced quality to the blonde’s performance. Many of those familiar faces probably hadn’t proven as familiar as Usagi would have wished. _What would you expect?_ Ranma thought grimly. _Years of slavery are going to change people — look at what a few weeks did to me!_ That wasn’t precisely fair, ‘Ranko’s’ time as Tatewaki’s sex toy had been pretty intense, but the principle was the same and Ranma wasn’t feeling ‘precisely fair’ on the subject.

Then the library building’s clock struck the hour.

“Great, we’re late!” Ranma said, and grabbed Akane’s hand to pull her into a run. “Come on!” They weren’t _that_ late, but running meant that she could ignore any more shouted greetings.

/\

Akane watched Ranma out of the corner of her eye as Usagi’s train was slowing to a stop. She hadn’t been kidding about their responsibility as hosts to meet Usagi at the train, and Ranma needed to get out of the dojo more often, the way her husband was hiding wasn’t good for him. Still, the few excursions they’d made during her pregnancy had been _really_ trying for the youngest Tendo — the way Ranma had quickly taken to only leaving the compound as a busty redhead, the way her eyes would roam, checking out all the men around them. If it had been Before it would have been all Akane could do to keep from hammering her fiancé into the ground, much less pretend not to notice, apparently, she was a better actress than everyone had thought. Though that acting itself had to make her look like a blithering idiot — a poster girl for ‘the wife is always the last to know’. The way Ranma had been ogling the construction workers....

 _It’s not his fault_ , she reminded herself yet again, _it’s the Mentalist that did this to him. If that’s what it takes to make him happy now, then that’s what it takes_. Not that that helped keep her heart from clenching whenever she thought of passing Ranma off to someone else. Still, if she _had_ to pass Ranma off to someone else she would rather it was a friend instead of a complete stranger, someone that she knew would take good care of the girl her husband was becoming —

The train doors slid open, the passengers flooding out, and within moments Akane caught sight of the familiar blonde.

Usagi looked _good_. Akane had thought she was too cute for words before, in a soft civilian sort of way, but there was nothing soft about her now — all that was left of that girl was the shoulder-length hair. She wore a tight sleeveless blouse rolled up and tied beneath her breasts, and the muscles on display were smoothly toned. Her gaze as she looked around was sharp and she moved like a fighter, and Akane instantly knew that the cheerfully ditzy victim waiting for a crime scene she’d met almost a year before was gone forever, replaced by a self-confident predator. The people around her sensed it as well, giving her room in spite of the crowding — or perhaps it was the katana and assault rifle on her back between the two large packs slung from her shoulders, and the semi-auto hanging from her belt.

Ranma had seen her, too, and Usagi caught the sound of her former mistress’s call and turned toward them, and the self-confident predator Akane had been observing disappeared, replaced by the girl she’d known as the blonde bounced toward them. “Ranko, Akane!” she called out happily, then blushed red as she joined them. She muttered, “Sorry, I meant ‘Ranma’.”

“No, ya meant ‘Ranko’,” Ranma replied, then smiled. “Not yer fault, that’s how ya knew me. Now put down yer bags.” Usagi’s two bags thunked onto the station’s concrete floor, then she ‘eep’ed as Ranma stepped forward and pulled the younger girl into a hug.

Akane’s eyebrows rose as Usagi hesitantly returned the embrace, glancing at Akane before giving the embrace the response it deserved. Before the Blowout Ranma had avoided public displays of affection like the plague, and even now he was hesitant except when around only family. Then Akane grinned — Usagi had picked up a few inches in the past year, like practically everyone else she was now taller than Ranma’s girl form instead of the same height.

Akane cleared her throat and the two girls broke apart, Ranma blushing furiously. “Right, let’s get ya to the dojo, show ya to Ukyo,” the redhead said, picking up one of Usagi’s bags.

Akane ignored Usagi’s protests to pick up the other bag, and her eyebrows rose again — the bag wasn’t heavy enough to cause her any real trouble, not as strong as she was, but it was heavier than she’d expected _Usagi_ to handle, as easily as the girl had been moving. Her estimate of the girl’s strength bumped up a couple of notches. She slung the bag over her shoulder, and as the three walked through the entrance onto the street, Usagi bracketed by her hosts, she asked, “What do you _have_ in here? Did you manage to shove in an entire suit of armor?”

Usagi shook her head (glancing around as she did so, Akane was impressed by her situational awareness — she just needed to learn to make it less obvious). “No, it’s mostly ammo for the Walther,” Usagi replied, touching the semi-auto at her hip. “I can buy ammo for the Kamikaze easily enough —” she shrugged, bouncing the assault rifle “— but my Walther isn’t the usual wristbreaker samurai seem to prefer, so the ammo isn’t as readily available. Sensei said something about Japanese men overcompensating, do you know what he was talking about?”

Akane laughed as Ranma sputtered, then asked, “Why the guns at all? They aren’t needed to get your samurai certification.”

“ ‘Cause she’s serious about bein’ a samurai, instead a’ just gettin’ her certificate stamped, anyone serious about usin’ the certificate fer most jobs learn,” Ranma replied from Usagi’s other side. “ _Pop_ made sure I knew the basics, and he didn’t like ‘em at all.”

“Oh.” Akane frowned. “If learning about guns is so important, then the certification requirements are _really_ out of date. Come to think about it, they always have been — the requirements were set by Tokugawa, and he had to know how important muskets were when we conquered Korea.”

Ranma shrugged. “A sop ta the traditionalists,” he said. “Same reason fer why they haven’t been updated — this way a long-time samurai family can get certified an’ stay that way, even if none a’ them have seen battle fer centuries ‘cause they’re too busy runnin’ their shop.”

“Oh,” Akane said again, and sighed. “Great, one more thing to add to my training in the Tendo school now that I’m back on my feet.” _One more thing that Daddy didn’t teach me when he was bothering to train me at all._ She shoved the uncomfortable — almost disloyal — thought aside as Usagi spoke up.

“I’ll teach you, Akane,” Usagi said brightly, “it’ll be fun!”

“Thanks, Usagi, I’d like that,” Akane replied.

Usagi beamed, then turned toward Ranma when the redhead asked a question about her training. Akane listened absentmindedly as Usagi happily responded at length, watching Ranma out of the corner of her eye. Since Usagi had exited the train, her husband’s attention had been fixed on the bubbly blonde, ignoring the men they passed on the street (well, except for the patrolman walking his beat, but he might have asked Usagi for her certificate signed by a certified sensei authorizing her to carry her weapons while in training — not that there was much chance of that when she was with the Saotomes).

 _Yes,_ Akane thought, _this might work._

/oOo\

“You want me to _what_?!” Usagi demanded from where she sat in the same spot on Akane’s bed as Kasumi, the night Akane had invited her to visit. Also as on that night, Akane sitting on her chair nursing little Ukyo.

“Shhhhh!” Akane hissed, glancing furtively toward the window. The two girls listened to the continuing clack of bokken on bokken as Ranma sparred with his mother on the narrow strip of lawn between their side of the house and the dojo compound wall, and Akane finally relaxed then turned to her baby as Ukyo began to fuss.

“I want you to seduce Ranma,” she repeated quietly as she looked down at her baby. “Actually, I want you to seduce ‘Ranko’.”

“Okay, that makes a _little_ more sense, but ... _why_?” Usagi demanded more quietly. She’d had more than a few erotic dreams of her ‘mistress’ taking advantage of that status more than a few times over the past almost-year, but she’d never imagined that when Akane had used the nursing and Ranma’s training with his mother as an excuse to _finally_ pull Usagi aside for some ‘girl-talk’ she would offer her the opportunity to make those dreams a reality.

Akane sighed, then looked up as she told Usagi about the dreams Ranma had been having over and over, that sent her husband to the furo in the early hours of the morning to relieve _her_ ... stress. Though she was careful to leave out the discussion with Kasumi, and her totally serious acceptance of her sister’s half-jesting request. She _still_ didn’t know what impulse had led her to agree so readily but she wasn’t going to back out now that she had — she couldn’t do that to _Kasumi_. But however much she liked Usagi, that was a matter for family.

Still, what she _did_ tell her was enough to leave a stunned Usagi staring at the wall. “She dreams about me,” she murmured, smiling dreamily, only to instantly sober when Akane winced. “Akane, it doesn’t have to be _me_ ,” she said. “Why d-d-d-don’t ...” She paused, and took a deep breath before trying again. Blushing furiously, she said, “Why don’t _you_ ... help her out?”

Akane shrugged. “ _She_ just doesn’t interest me,” she said as offhandedly as she could manage, “and as it turns out, I’m not a good enough actress to pretend I am.” Deciding that Ukyo had had enough, she closed up her bra, pulled down her T-shirt and smoothed a towel over her shoulder before shifting her daughter up to burp her, then refocused on Usagi. Finding the blonde gazing sympathetically at her, Akane shrugged the shoulder Ukyo wasn’t resting against. “No, I’m not exactly happy about this. But Ranma’s happiness is what matters and if that takes _Ranko_ spending some happy hours in bed with our good — and very cute — friend, then that’s what it takes.”

Before Usagi had a chance to respond, Ranma shouted from below, “Hey, Tomboy! You two about done? Usagi’s up!”

Akane stepped to the window and looked down at her husband and mother-in-law. Ranma looked as fresh as ever, of course, but Nodoka was half-collapsed against a tree trunk and guzzling down the contents of a water bottle. Akane called down to her husband, “We’ll be right down!” Turning back and striding toward the door, she said to Usagi in passing, “At least think about it.”

“Like I’m going to be able to think about anything else,” Usagi muttered as she fell in behind her host. “Ranma is going to beat me like a _drum_.”

/oOo\

_Several days later:_

Nabiki leaned back in the chair in front of her bedroom computer and rubbed at weary eyes. Between learning how to manage a mid-level corporation, ramping up her own little Nerima-based otokodate and begin pushing into Juuban, and the family time Kasumi was insisting on, the middle Tendo was _seriously_ behind on her sleep.

Her concerns over her current situation weren’t helping. She was essentially running a mid-level corporation out of her bedroom and she was amazed that she had been able to pull it off as long as she had, but she was reaching her limits. She could do only so much through the ‘net, teleconferencing and occasional commutes to Hawaii, but she badly needed to keep a hands-on presence for the otokodate — she was building a rep in her part of Edo’s underworld, but she couldn’t do that from Hawaii. She didn’t really have anyone that could replace her, anyway. And then there was her so far unsuccessful search for a discreet doctor willing to go all the way to the back of beyond of Daerah Selatan to examine the girl de Oro had pulled out of that hellhole, and her apparent brain implant. Not even the weeks that Ranma had spent as a slave had been this frustrating — more desperate, absolutely, as frustrating, no. Then she’d only been juggling one ball instead of three.

Noticing the clack of bokken on bokken coming through her open window, she rose and stepped over to look down at Usagi slowly backpedaling along the grass as Nodoka pressed her advantage, Ranma in male form watching from the sidelines. To Nabiki’s experienced eye Nodoka and Usagi were fairly evenly matched, though Nodoka would be the better in the end. In this as in the other skills of the samurai that Nabiki had seen Usagi practicing in her few snatched breaks from her own work, the young blonde was _not_ a natural, not even close — she was as good as she was now through sheer bloody-minded determination, but that could carry one only so far and she was probably getting close to her limits.

Nabiki grinned as Usagi parried with a twisting move that she hadn’t seen before, pushing Nodoka’s bokken out of line — not far enough that Usagi was able to get a touch, but Nodoka’s block was awkward and she was unable to keep the teenager from slipping past her, and now _Nodoka_ was the one pinned against the imaginary line at the end of the house that marked the limits of their sparring area. A quick flurry of strikes and Nodoka had stepped back one pace too far, and Ranma called out, “Point! Advantage Usagi.”

Usagi flashed Ranma a grin, and Nabiki frowned again. That was another thing that was frustrating her. There were some very _odd_ undercurrents in her family right now — between Ranma and Akane and Kasumi, between Ranma and Akane and Usagi, but _not_ between Kasumi and Usagi. Of course Ranma was oblivious, but Nodoka, at least, seemed to be aware the undercurrents ... and found the whole situation amusing. But Nabiki ... the Ice Queen of Furinkan, CEO and rising otokodate boss, was out of the loop and she _hated_ that — and didn’t have the time to investigate.

 _Well, you’ll just have to go on being frustrated,_ she thought as she turned back to her computer. _Navel-gazing won’t clear those folders off your desktop._ Plunking herself back down into her chair with a sigh, she popped open the next file in her queue just as her vidphone icon began blinking as a pop-up identified the caller.

Nabiki hastily accepted the call, and a moment later a window opened on her screen to show the smiling raven-hair-framed face of Meioh-dono’s personal secretary. Nabiki wondered absently if Saitou Miliko had ever imagined when she was purchased at auction by Meioh- _san_ (in the same auction Ranma was sold off, oddly enough) that she’d end up working personally for a Family’s Lady.

Nabiki leaned back and asked with a grin, “So, what can I do for the Commoners’ Lady today?”

Miliko grinned back. The two had found out that they had similar somewhat mocking senses of humor during one long conversation, when Nabiki had had to wait for awhile in the room in the Kuno mansion set aside for Meioh-dono’s secretary and waiting appointments. She’d arrived to sign the last of the papers transferring the Hawaii plantations to Ranma, and found herself waiting while the new Lady sorted out some incompetents she’d just inherited. “Meioh-dono wonders if the Wunderkind of Nerima would grace her with her presence for lunch, tomorrow. She has an offer for you.”

“She does?” Nabiki straightened. “What kind of offer?”

Miliko shrugged. “She didn’t say. So tomorrow at noon, here at the estate, business casual. Can you be here?”

“Of course,” Nabiki replied, and the two exchanged a few pleasantries before ending the call. Nabiki leaned back again and rubbed at her face. _Great, one more mystery. At least this one will have a quick answer._ Sighing again, she refocused on the file she’d opened just as the call came in. She was going to be working through dinner, however much Kasumi wanted her there — if she was going to meet Meioh-dono the next day she needed to be at her best, and _that_ meant an early night to bed. Her best didn’t mean punch-drunk with fatigue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Akane’s making the same old mistakes, just with a somewhat different result.


	5. Piling It On

The guard at the front gate of the formerly Kuno/now-Meioh estate discreetly sniffed as Nabiki strode past him, but not discreetly enough and Nabiki suppressed a wince. Her reflexive tendency to keep secrets had really turned around to bite her this time — if Akane had known that Nabiki was meeting Meioh-dono for lunch, she wouldn’t have suggested that she join her, Usagi and Ranma at the local gun range that morning. But Akane hadn’t known, and Nabiki hadn’t known enough to realize just how much the smell of gunpowder would cling to her clothes. _Or maybe I’d still be in this fix even if Akane_ had _known about my lunch date — it’s not like little sis has used guns much, perhaps she wouldn’t have known, either._

Either way there hadn’t been time to return to the dojo to clean up and change before her lunch meeting with Nerima’s first Lady, but when she’d called to say as much and apologize profusely (not to say grovel, if one was being blunt) Meioh-dono’s secretary had ultimately told her to come as she was.

Then she was at the massive front doors of the mansion, and one eyebrow rose when one door swung open to reveal that selfsame secretary rather than the servant Nabiki had expected. “Hey, Nabiki, glad you made it, let’s go.” Miliko turned to lead the newcomer to her luncheon, commenting as she did, “You weren’t kidding about your new aroma. I don’t think gunpowder is going to be the latest popular scent any time soon.”

Nabiki’s other eyebrow rose — ‘business casual’ was one thing, but this level of ‘casual’ was one that Nabiki hadn’t experienced even in school, at least not in her last two years after she’d become known as the ‘Ice Queen’. She asked, “It won’t be a problem?”

“Not at all, you’ll see,” Miliko replied, then changed the subject to the new government building that was _finally_ under construction, and how happy the servants would be to get all the outsiders out from underfoot. (“Even if they’re too well trained to say anything, you can tell.”)

Nabiki listened to the conversation stream with half an ear — making generic responses at the appropriate moments and filing away possibly useful tidbits — while most of her attention was on the wealth on display in the corridors. She frowned as they walked along, her frown deepening with each new hallway they turned into. Finally she interrupted Miliko to ask, “Where are we going? This isn’t the way to the dining room I visited last time I was here.”

“Oh, we aren’t going there,” Miliko responded blithely. “After you called Meioh-dono instructed the servants to shift the luncheon to her private quarters.”

“What?!” Nabiki’s head whipped around toward her guide, just as Miliko stopped by a nondescript door (well, nondescript for _this_ mansion) and slid it open.

“Here you go, enjoy!”

Nabiki hesitantly stepped into a parlor and looked around at the cozy setting (easy chairs for relaxing, a large screen TV on the wall and a wireless computer console below it, a small table), then jumped slightly as the door slid closed behind her. This was turning out to be as far from a typical business lunch as one could get, and she was feeling _very_ off-center. Then she noticed a doll off in one corner sitting in a small chair by an equally small table, and remembered the young girl being raised by the two girls about the same age as Nabiki, that had moved into Meioh-dono’s home ... and bed. She grinned at the memory of the excitement _that_ had caused. The nobility had been scandalized, of course — taking lovers was nothing unusual, though lovers of the same sex were — but having them actually _move into your home_ just wasn’t done. But the common people had loved it—not only did they get to contemplate a bunch of stuck-up better-than-you’s with their noses out of joint, but it was obvious to anyone watching the three with a clear eye (four when Haru ... Hakura ... Hotaru! ... joined them) that the relationship wasn’t based on just pleasure and money, and the commoners loved them for it — even the Christians, in spite of the ‘sinful’ relationship.

With the sight of little Hotaru’s toys reminding her that there was more to her host than a canny and quietly ruthless businesswoman turned Lady, Nabiki took a steadying breath and called out, “Hello?”

“In here!”

The call came from the open doorway directly across from the door to the hall, and Nabiki strode through to find a small dining room, empty of people but with another open door to her right leading into a bedroom. The bedroom tastefully decorated in blues, whites and greens was also empty but had two other doors. The closed one was obviously _not_ her destination — the name ‘Hotaru’ spelled out in Latin alphabet blocks stuck to a piece of wood, obviously without benefit of a straight edge from the way the letters meandered, made that clear. It reminded her of the signs she and her sisters had made for _their_ bedrooms when they were children. Smiling faintly at the memory, Nabiki strode over to the open door, only to pause at the sight of the two women in a sunken furo to one side of the _immense_ bathroom.

Kuno — no, _Meioh_ Kodachi lifted a hand in greeting, then popped the bite-sized sandwich she was holding in her mouth. The former Kuno was instantly recognizable even though she was no longer wearing her hair in an off-center ponytail.

Beside her adopted daughter, Meioh-dono smiled and waved a hand toward an open slot in the bathroom wall. She said, “Strip down and join us. Put your clothes in the slot, and they’ll be clean by the time you leave.”

Nabiki filed that away without revealing her surprise — that statement implied that the ‘meeting’ would be longer than the usual lunch. She bowed then followed her marching orders, hastily stripping down and shoving her clothes through the slot before sitting on a nearby stool to soap up and rinse herself off. A few moments later she was easing herself into the steaming water, carefully avoiding the plates loaded with finger food and full pitchers of what she assumed was water that surrounded the furo.

Once she was safely settled and had popped a few mini-sandwiches and pieces of fruit in her mouth, she glanced over at her hostess. “I have to say that this is a marvelous piece of improvisation,” she said. “Too bad I can’t do the same with my own business lunches, but even if I had a furo like this everyone I’ve been meeting with are men.” Switching her gaze to Kodachi, she added, “But I’m a little surprised to find _you_ here. Weren’t you attending an opening ceremony for another dojo for rhythmic gymnastics martial arts?”

Kodachi smiled, as happy to talk about her current passion as Nabiki had expected. “We’re calling them schools, some of the martial arts masters objected.” She made a face at her mention of the hidebound navelgazers she’d met, then shrugged. “It’s a better name, anyway, more likely to bring in students that just want to learn how to defend themselves or for the exercise instead of working toward samurai status. But today’s opening was a school for the younger set, so it was short — before we bored all those poor children to death.”

Nabiki chuckled, and glanced at the emerald-haired woman on her other side. “Is Hotaru one of the new students?”

Meioh-dono shook her head. “No, she’s a little weak for that, but her mothers and I are hoping that she’ll grow strong enough eventually.”

The small talk stayed light and on personal lives (with Kodachi asking after Ranma, and hanging on Nabiki’s stories of the misadventures of caring for little Ukyo) as the three grazed the various plates until that grazing grew thin, until finally Meioh-dono sighed and set aside the glass of water she’d been sipping.

“As fun as this has been, we have things we need to discuss,” she said.

Nabiki glanced over at Kodachi, and the Meioh heir smiled wistfully. “I believe you will be more comfortable discussing business if I’m not here,” she said, “thank you for the news of how Ranma’s really doing.” She twisted and rose to step out of the furo and over to the towels. Vigorously drying herself off (Nabiki discreetly eyeing what flashes she could see of the now-revealed well-toned body, Kodachi hadn’t discernibly gone soft over the almost-year of peace), she swiftly pulled on her favorite clothes (black leotard of course, but with the addition of a white wrap-around skirt) and was gone.

Once the door closed behind her, Meioh-dono leaned back with a sigh, resting her head on the low wall around the furo and closing her eyes. “To begin,” she said quietly, “I’d like to thank you for your help in Juuban. It has been, perhaps literally, a _God_ send.”

Nabiki froze. While she had donated some of the profits from the Hawaiian plantations she was managing to help out in that economically devastated district of Edo, those donations had been inconsequential — simple markers, to get her name on lists. The _ministers_ that de Oro had forwarded to her and that she was secretly funding, on the other hand, by all accounts _were_ having a real impact. But that link was through Nabiki the rising otokodate oyabun, _not_ Nabiki the spectacularly young corporate manager. But maybe Meioh-dono was just overstating her financial contributions to be polite —

Meioh-dono opened her eyes and refocused on her stiff guest with a weary smile. “Those preachers have been a big help getting the new street gangs under control — those are good kids, just traumatized. They need a focus and an explanation for what happened to them — to their world — and the preachers are giving them those answers ... or at least, answers they can build a life on, whether or not they are actually true. Though I suspect those kids will supply you with a steady stream of foot soldiers as they finish growing up.”

 _She knows._ Nabiki forced herself to relax and shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re right, they’ll come in handy down the road,” she said. “But better me than some typical otokodate thug. At least I’m trying to make the world a better place — or our piece of it, at least.”

Meioh-dono picked up and raised her glass of water in salute. “Welcome to the club. Feels good to have a purpose beyond your own self-aggrandizement, doesn’t it?”

 _Of course she knows about my high school career,_ Nabiki thought wryly. _Why not? She knows about everything else_. “Yes, it does. The price I paid for it was high, though.”

“It often is. As a wise man once said, what we achieve too easily we esteem too lightly. Or something to that effect.”

For a moment Meioh-dono focused on something only she could see, then shook off her abruptly melancholy mood and straightened. “... proposition,” she said.

Nabiki had missed the first few words, her gaze fixed on the high firm breasts that lifted from the water when Meioh-dono straightened — being bisexual was handy, plenty of extra eye candy even if Nabiki was living like a nun (or at least as nuns were _supposed_ to live), but it _did_ cause the occasional problem. When she finally managed to force her eyes north, she found that those breasts’ owner was smirking.

“Like what you see?” Meioh-dono asked, then laughed at Nabiki’s deer-in-the-headlights look as the younger woman blushed crimson. “Relax, I’m not going to be insulted that you find me attractive — I’d be a hypocrite if I did, considering who’s sharing my bed.” Taking pity on her poor guest, she lowered herself until her breasts were again covered by water. “Anyway, as I said, I have a business proposition for you. I’d like to sell you the Meioh plantations in Daerah Selatan.”

Nabiki froze again, jaw dropping. The Daerah Selatan plantations? Seriously!? Her mind raced as she thought of what she could do with plantations on _both_ sides of the Empire, Hawaii in the middle of the Pacific facing the United States and Daerah Selatan archipelago with the Pacific Ocean on one side and the Indian Ocean on the other, Australia to the south — if she could just _manage_ that far-flung a business empire (for a moment her shock-benumbed mind considered the quirk of history that had a Japanese territory with a Latin name, before she shoved it aside). “Be great ... I ... I can’t ... pay ... manage ... trouble already ... why!?” she babbled.

Meioh-dono giggled at how she’d reduced her guest to incoherency before replying, “Money’s no problem, I’ll give you a loan to cover the purchase — you’ll find the terms _very_ reasonable. As for managing it, that’s another reason I wanted to talk to you.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back again before continuing, “When you were running your little gang in high school, the qualities you looked for were loyalty and obedience, right? Subordinates that were observant enough, but mainly that would keep their mouths shut and follow orders.”

“I ... well, yes, I suppose...” Nabiki managed to get out as her mind finally rebooted.

“That isn’t going to work for you, not anymore, too hands-on ... small-time,” Meioh-dono said. “You’re already stretched beyond your limits, and you’re about to lose some of your best managers in Hawaii because you won’t leave them alone to do their jobs. You need to learn to pick people you can trust and _trust_ them. Jump on them a bit when they screw up, of course, but give them room to make mistakes and a chance to fix the damage when they do. You only step in if they don’t fix any systemic flaws that lead to mistakes or prove to be congenital screw-ups, or start fighting or empire-building. _Your_ job is to provide an overall vision and keep your eye on the big picture.”

Nabiki tucked away the fact that Meioh-dono still had well-placed spies among her Hawaiian workforce and undoubtedly would in Daerah Selatan as well, and nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, I can see that,” she mused, “but it’ll be quite a change in my style. Any books you could recommend for guidance on how?”

“I can do better. Since I’m selling you even more plantations, it would make sense for me to loan you someone to help manage the unification. Yosida-san has been with me for years, and since I became the Lady of Nerima has been handling his new role as troubleshooter flawlessly.”

“Okay, sounds good.” It also helped make Nabiki an unofficial part of Meioh-dono’s business empire ( _even more_ of an unofficial part, really), but she desperately needed help with few people she trusted enough to accept help from — and only one with the resources and knowledge she needed at the moment that she trusted that much, if only because Meioh-dono had set her up in the first place. “So why are you selling the plantations to me? I thought you’d enjoy cleaning them up after what de Oro’s little attack revealed.”

“Those revelations are _why_ I’m selling them to you.” Meioh-dono opened her eyes and straightened again, and this time Nabiki was too focused on the discussion to be distracted by the again-revealed breasts (though she did tuck the image away for later daydreaming — Meioh-dono really did have a _magnificent_ body). Her Lady continued, “When you accepted my invitation you called me ‘the Commoner’s Lady’. That’s a handy label, with the reputation that goes with it, but that reputation is one of _mercy_ — of rescuing a young woman ... girl, really ... who suddenly found herself out of her depth and following it up with rescuing as many Juuban commoners as I can manage. If I stomp on the bottom-feeders currently managing my Daerah Selatan plantations the way they deserve that public image of me as Kannon incarnate will be gone, and it’s still too useful to me. But after Hawaii your own image is very different, and cleaning up Daerah Selatan will only enhance it. So what do you say, will you buy them?”

Nabiki sighed at the new workload, though at least now there was some light at the end of the tunnel. “You know I will,” she said, “and thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Meioh-dono replied, then glanced past her guest. “And from the light over the bin, it seems your clothes are clean.” She rose to stand in the furo and turned toward Nabiki, making her guest’s mouth go dry as her eyes involuntarily roamed from water-beaded breasts to trimmed and water-dark green fuzzed pubic mound. “Let’s get dressed and join Kodachi for dessert, you’ll love it.”


	6. The Doctor Is In

_A week later:_

A gi-clad Usagi stepped lightly to her left, her hands raised head high with the bokken they held slanted down at an angle, feet firm on the dojo’s thin mat — a little too firm, actually, she’d gotten used to the slightly slick grass, but the rain that morning had had them moving their training inside. Of course, the _afternoon’s_ training would be outside whether the rain hung on or not — Ranma had muttered something about training as you fought.

The blonde’s gaze was intent with not a hint of her normal bubbly good cheer on her face (a good cheer that was actually becoming true again, in the days she’d spent with the Tendos as an aching tightness at her core relaxed). At the moment, her entire world consisted of her sparring partner. Nodoka turned in place, the older woman’s face calm, her guard perfect. Or nearly perfect — the brace the Saotome matriarch wore on her right hand and wrist threw her grip off by the slightest hair. Not that the presence of the brace had kept her from trouncing Usagi more often than not in spite of the girl’s almost a year’s worth of intense training. Still, the brace _was_ there, and Usagi was about to find out whether a little theory she’d come up with would work, right ... about ... now!

Usagi flowed forward with hard-earned grace, bokken flashing down. Nodoka’s own bokken swept up to intercept her first strike, second, teisted to block the third ... and the bokken lifted to _just_ the right height and angle. Usagi instantly shifted her attack to Nodoka’s bokken, slamming into it with a loud clack of wood on wood, pushing in a direction that the brace on Nodoka’s hand simply didn’t permit. Inevitably, Nodoka’s grip failed and her bokken spun across the dojo, and Usagi grinned as her own bokken whipped around and up toward her sparring partner’s neck — and a moment later found herself pinwheeling across the dojo to thud into the wall directly above Nodoka’s bokken, a few yards away from Akane.

“Owie.”

Usagi slowly sat up, rubbing her back and head where they’d impacted the wall as she waited for the stars spangling her vision to fade, then accepted a giggling Akane’s offer of a hand up. Once on her feet, she glared at Ranma where she was now standing next to her mother (‘her’ at the moment thanks to a spatter of wind-blown rain under the covered walkway to the dojo, and Usagi ignored a spurt of longing at the sight of the redhead). “What did you sneak up and do that for, I _had_ her!” Usagi complained, now rubbing her sore butt.

“Actually, you were lookin’ at a mutual kill,” Ranma replied. “Ya were so focused on yer strike that ya didn’t notice Mom goin’ fer her backup. If it was a real fight, she woulda been spillin’ yer guts about the time you were takin’ her head.” Usagi’s eyes widened as Nodoka lifted the wakizashi-length bokken that had been at her waist, and was now in her off hand.

Ranma added, “And I didn’t ‘sneak up on ya’. I just walked up to ya — no, I strolled, _sauntered_. I did everything but bring along a marchin’ band, and ya didn’t even notice.” He shrugged. “Ya did good takin’ advantage a’ Mom’s brace, but you’re trainin’ ta be a warrior, not a duelist. Ya need ta keep focused on what’s goin’ on around ya as well as yer enemy, in case yer enemy’s friends decide ta join the fun.”

“Oh,” Usagi muttered, blushing furiously. No wonder Akane had been giggling, it must have looked hilarious.

Ranma grinned (Usagi’s stomach fluttered at the sheer cuteness). “Hey, don’t sweat it, you’re gettin’ better. An’ me an’ Akane’ll take care a’ yer focus problem. Now take a break. Mom, you too. Akane, you’re up.”

As her raven-haired friend grabbed her pad-covered steel staff from where it leaned against the wall and eagerly joined her husband in the middle of the dojo, Usagi walked over to where the towels and water bottles were against the wall. She tossed one of each to Nodoka before using her own towel to wipe at her sweaty face, then glanced over to the doorway at the sound of someone walking along the outside walkway. A moment later a familiar slightly damp pageboy-haired brunette stepped inside. Nabiki glanced around then walked over to join Usagi, slipping her bookbag from her shoulder and lowering it to the floor. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

Usagi grimaced, then quickly replaced it with a wide smile, declaiming happily, “How could I not be with such a _wonderful_ teacher?” Then, more soberly, “You’re back rather early, aren’t you?”

Nabiki chuckled at Usagi’s rapid apparent mood shift from bubbly airhead to the more serious girl she was getting to know, then shrugged. “Actually, I’m back when I expected to be, you’ve just been having too much fun. Kasumi’s already gone shopping with Ukyo.”

“She has?” Usagi glanced at the windows, but with the overcast skies the shadows were too diffuse to really tell how late it was. “So everything went all right?”

“Yup, all the paperwork is signed, Tendo Ranko is now the single largest plantation owner in Daerah Selatan. I’ll be leaving with Kodachi for a tour of our new acquisitions in a few days.”

Usagi frowned at the mention of her dead master’s sister. “Why is _she_ going along?”

Nabiki shrugged, then stepped to one side as Akane slammed into the wall between the two and dropped to the floor. Her youngest sister looked up blearily at the pair. “Hey big sis, welcome back,” she mumbled before kipping back to her feet and charging toward Ranma.

Nabiki chuckled and shook her head. As if they hadn’t been interrupted, she said, “Meioh-dono said it would demonstrate that it’s a friendly transfer and we can’t be played off against each other, but I think she just wants Kodachi to get out of the house for awhile.”

“Ah.” Usagi let it drop, though she doubted that Setsuna’s reasoning was that simple — it never was, not _that_ subtle manipulator. Still, it probably wasn’t her affair and Usagi had more important concerns. “You simply _must_ take Ranma with you!” she enthused. “ ‘Ranko’ is the owner, after all, she ought to see it for herself.”

“Oh?” Nabiki quirked an eyebrow. “Ranma wouldn’t want to leave Akane and baby behind, so they’d have to go as well. And since you’re their guest, it would be rude to just send you home — you just want a tropical vacation!”

“Aw, pretty please?” Usagi begged, pouting, tilting her head to gaze up mournfully at Nabiki.

Nabiki threw up her hands in a warding gesture. She cried in mock horror, “Anything but the dreaded puppy dog eyes!”

“Pleeeease?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll ask,” Nabiki replied in all-too easy capitulation. “Actually, it’s not a bad idea — bring along Nodoka and Kasumi, make a complete party of it. With the Amazon bodyguards I’m hiring it should be safe enough, and we could all probably do with a change of scenery.”

Usagi spun around in place as she shouted, “Yay!”

Nabiki laughed, the first time Usagi could remember and she smiled at her success (finally!), then the two looked around at the sound of a body slamming into the mat. They found Akane pushing herself up with one hand and rubbing her head with the other, glaring up at the smug redhead. “Don’t get distracted,” Ranma scolded, shaking a finger at her wife. “I don’t care how wild a party Usagi and Nabiki are havin’, ya pay attention ta me, not them. Now let’s try that again.”

Akane grumbled as she rolled over the staff she’d managed to hold on to and rose to her feet, but took the stance that Ranma had found in her father’s scrolls, the solid basic position of the Tendo School of Anything Goes, staff held at a slant. “Ready.”

Usagi stepped back over beside Nabiki and watched as Ranma flowed forward, and Akane’s staff blurred as she parried those rapidfire blows Ranma simply didn’t abort. Akane went on the offensive, sweeping the staff at Ranma’s feet, then trying to knock her out of the air when she leaped over the blow only for Ranma to twist and _bend_ around the staff somehow, the staff’s tip barely clipping her. As Usagi and Nabiki watched Ranma land on her hands and roll away from her wife, the younger girl murmured, “So what’s been bothering you? Anything I can help with?”

Nabiki kept her eyes fixed on her sister and brother-in-law, her face going blank. She asked, “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“Because _Kasumi_ thinks something’s wrong,” Usagi, replied, “she’s been watching you.” She hurriedly added, “She isn’t _scared_ , she just ... watches.”

Nabiki frown thoughtfully, glancing sidelong at Usagi, but finally shrugged. “Even if you can’t help, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you,” she said. “I almost told Meioh-dono, after all, and you should be more trustworthy than she is.” She knelt to pick up her bookbag (and so missing Usagi’s wince) and pulled out her tablet. Turning it on, she tapped on it a few times and handed it to Usagi. “Remember the girl with all the scars that was liberated from one of Meioh-dono’s Daerah Selatan plantations? Check this out.”

Usagi’s eyes narrowed at the pair of photographs displayed on the tablet—a neck, probably a woman’s, hair pulled up out of the way, and at the base of the skull, what looked in one photo kind of like a wall outlet plug. In the other photo — “What is it? It looks like a computer slot.”

“Yes, it _does_ look like a computer port, but we don’t know what it is,” Nabiki replied. “Whatever it is, it’s implanted — it actually goes into the skull as best we can tell.” She hesitated, then reluctantly added, “And that girl has been Adjusted, too. She doesn’t know the plug’s there, can’t feel it, doesn’t remember it after anyone tells her it’s there. That kind of mental alteration doesn’t come cheap, this is _important_ to somebody. So I need a doctor willing and able to make a _discreet_ trip to the back-of-beyond of Daerah Selatan to examine her, that’ll keep his mouth shut afterwards. You wouldn’t happen to have that doctor in your pocket, would you?”

Usagi’s giggle had a distinctly forced sound, dying quickly as she remembered the girl Nabiki had mentioned, and the video footage that circled her naked body, revealing every bruise and scar from blows, whip and teeth. Between her training and nighttime outings at Sailor Pluto’s behest she hadn’t had the time to join the new non-Christian anti-slavery organization that had sprung up in Juuban — one of many Pluto had said, even if they weren’t being reported on the newsfeeds — but she had wanted to. Her childhood friend Naru had and had asked her to come along, and saying no had been one of the hardest things in Usagi’s short life she’d ever done. Now she stared at the tablet in her now shaking hands, face grim as she realized that what that poor girl had gone through was only beginning, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it!

“I’m sorry, Nabiki, but the only doctor in my hip pocket will have already turned you down,” she said, her regret clear in her soft voice.

“Oh? Who?”

Usagi looked up at Nabiki’s eager question, confused. “Why, Dr. Mizuno, of course.” Her eyes widened at the lack of recognition on the middle Tendo’s face. “You mean you _didn’t_ ask her? Dr. Mizuno? The mother of my friend, Ami? The one Akane delivered a letter to, that tested to see if Akane was pregnant?”

Now Usagi’s giggles were anything but forced, as she watched the dawning recognition sweep across Nabiki’s face. “You _didn’t_ ask her, did you. You forgot all about her.”

“Oh, that’s _perfect_ ,” Nabiki breathed, eyes wide. “Give me back that tablet! What’s her number? Wait, Akane should make the call. Akane!” she shouted. “Get your ass over here!”

Even as another thud of body hitting mat sounded, with the added soft thumping of the staff doing the same, Nabiki took a deep breath, closed her eyes, slowly exhaled, opened them again. “No, we can’t call, I need to ask in person, with operating anti-surveillance in place.”

“Nabiki, I had Ranma on the run until you shouted!” Usagi and Nabiki turned to look at their friend and sister stomping toward them, then past her at the smirking redhead rolling her eyes. “What’s so important?”

Nabiki hesitated, and Usagi said, “We’re going to Juuban to visit a friend.”

“What? But I don’t want to leave Ukyo....” a now bewildered Akane said.

“Bring her along,” Usagi replied. “The Mizunos won’t mind. In fact, Dr. Mizuno will be happy to see her, she’s asked me about you and the baby.”

“Who?”

Ignoring Akane’s confused question, Usagi refocused on Nabiki. “In fact, Ami was just telling me the other day that her mother works too much, can we invite them along on our little tropical vacation?”

“Wait, tropical vacation? What’s going on?”

Nabiki ignored her sister, stared at Usagi. “Do you really think she’ll do it?”

Usagi nodded. “Yes. As grateful as she is to Set — to Meioh-dono, she knows Ranma made it possible for Meioh-dono to become the Commoners’ Lady ... and free her daughter. She thinks she owes you.”

Nabiki smiled broadly, and Usagi couldn’t help but smile back ... it was the first truly, purely _happy_ smile she could remember seeing on Nabiki’s face. Then Nabiki whirled around. “What first, what first ... Usagi, call your friend and find out when we can visit. Kasumi’s going to need to pack, I need to arrange more bodyguards and someone to watch the house ... Juuban ...” She snatched her tablet back from Usagi and her bookbag from the floor and rushed out of the dojo.

Ranma, Akane and Nodoka watched her leave, then turned to stare at Usagi.

Usagi bounced in place. “We’re going on a tropical vacation, yay!”


	7. Another Day/Night/Day in Paradise

Miiko hummed softly to herself as she sliced the vegetables, a happy — even jaunty — tune from her teenage school days (the Empire Darlings were long gone of course, the then-flavor of the month, though in their case they were good enough to be the flavor of the year and had some nice original songs).

She had trouble believing how _much_ things had turned around since the night she’d wept out her grief on de Oro’s shoulder. She’d woken up the next morning with her head still resting on that same shoulder, feeling so light she was surprised she didn’t just float off on the breeze. Since then de Oro had ordered that she be accepted as a cook’s helper and made sure to spend at least a few minutes with her every day, gently pushing her to think of her future and sharing stories of their very different childhoods.

She didn’t expect her high to last, of course, she couldn’t possibly be that lucky — especially with de Oro just about to leave the camp on another mission — but she could live with the nightmares she was sure were waiting for her that night. De Oro would be back to chase them away again.

“You do know that we aren’t seasoning this stew with blood, right?”

“What?” Miiko looked over at Setiawan, an old man, hair gone white, skin browned by field work, one of the oldest debt slaves that had joined them after the raid that had saved her. She followed his gaze down to her hand and the pair of cuts in her forefinger beginning to bleed onto the cutting board, only now beginning to sting. “Oops.”

Setiawan laughed as he took the knife away from her and set it aside, then walked over to the drawer with the first aid kit. “Okay, which of the men caught your eye?” he asked as he wiped her finger with disinfectant and waited for the alcohol to dry so he could wrap on the bandage.

“What?”

He said, “That’s the kind of thing my girls did when they had boys on the mind.” He wiped away the blood on the cutting board with a rag as Miiko gaped at him.

“What!? No!”  What the young men would want ... an image of her dead master looming over her flashed through her mind and her stomach roiled.

“Woah, easy!” Setiawan spread his hands and stepped back. “My mistake, you can put down the knife.”

“The knife?” She looked down again to find she was clutching the knife she’d cut herself with. She carefully set it down on the cutting board with a slightly shaking hand. “I’m ... not interested in men right now,” she said.

“I can see that, won’t make that mistake again.” He motioned toward several large pots across the aisle on gas burners. “Why don’t you stir those while I finish dicing the vegetables? Slicing vegetables needs a steady hand and we don’t want the soup to burn, or de Oro won’t get to eat before he leaves.”

_De Oro_ ... Miiko nodded jerkily, forcing deep breaths and already feeling calmer as she remembered the Mexican/Apache half-breed that had rescued her, then stepped over and accepted Setiawan’s large spoon. She was _not_ going to be responsible for him leaving hungry.

/oOo\

Giray Karakaya, sitting carefully in the collapsible chair in front of his collapsible table, glanced up for a moment with a sigh at the sound of the fresh rain spattering down on the roof of his extra-large tent. As any sane desert dweller, he had delighted in the rain when he’d first arrived in Daerah Selatan, but that delight had faded rapidly as he became aware that it was going to be _months_ before he had truly dry clothes. At least the permanent housing of his merry band of marauders would be complete in the next few days (other than the cook shack and communal dining hall, of course — after meals getting rained out a few times they’d dropped everything to focus on those first so they were already up). Then they could get out of the tents.

He shrugged his shoulders as he turned back to his satellite-linked laptop. _Inshallah, you have more important things to worry about._ Such as the _other_ band of marauders that had gotten the jump on his own band — the _Christian_ marauders. Now if only the Court’s intelligence back in Istanbul had _finally_ sent a response to his query....

There was in fact a new message from his intelligence specialist. Giray quickly opened the response, and within second his face tightened. He stared at the message after finishing it for a long minute before finally transferring it to his mini-tablet sigh rising and grabbing his long raincoat and striding out into the rain. His second was going to need to see this.

/\

Malik Abd-al-Haqq rolled onto his back on his cot as a thoroughly soaked Giray stalked into his tent. The second in command of their merry band examined his superior’s face as best he could in the dim light of the lantern hanging from its hook in the middle of the round tent’s roof. Sighing at what little he could detect in Giray’s expression, he sat up and rubbed his face. “That bad, huh?” he asked in a tired voice.

Giray chuckled grimly and pulled his mini-tablet out from underneath his raincoat. Turning it on and thrusting it toward Malik, he said, “Sorry to wake you up, but I had to share the lunacy. Read.”

Eyebrows rising, Malik accepted the tablet quickly read the message — something easily accomplished, since it was a _very_ short message. He handed back the tablet, then flopped back on his cot and tucked his hands behind his head. “I can’t say that report fills me with confidence in the tactical brilliance of Istanbul,” he remarked. “ ‘This land belongs to Allah’ may be true enough, but that doesn’t exactly tell us where to find the band of Christian interlopers we’re supposed to seek out and destroy. And I noticed a distinct lack of intelligence on just who these Christians _are_ , much less anything on how many of them there might be or how deep their support is.”

“Now that’s not entirely true,” Giray said snidely, “it _does_ speculate that their backing comes from the United States.”

Malik barked a laugh. “ _Of course_ they’re being backed by those maniacs! They have to be Americans themselves, who else is crazy enough to organize a slave revolt in the territory of an ostensible ally? But the report didn’t have much to say about whether that backing comes from private citizens the federals are ignoring or from Washington itself.  That might have a _teensy_ impact on the resources available to them.”

“Whatever their resources our marching orders are clear,” Giray said with a shrug, “hunt down and kill these interlopers for daring to seek to seduce good Muslims from the true faith by fighting to free them from the shackles of their tyrannical pagan masters. How _dare_ they do so before _us_ , if only by a few weeks? So I want you to order our scouts to locate these people that the Imperial Army with its much greater manpower has failed to find.”

“Well, _that_ part of the analysis actually makes a certain amount of sense,” Malik mused. “Between the corruption and laziness endemic in the Imperial Army units stationed here and the Emperor’s ... apparent lack of concern, shall we say ... for the implications of that massacre, I doubt the Army has been trying all that hard to find the rebels — they might actually succeed, after all, and for some inexplicable reason they seem to think that would be bad.”

Giray chuckled, somewhat more lightheartedly this time. “Who knows what the Emperor’s thinking? Or if it’s even the Emperor and not some faction instead? The Empire is a snake pit, trying to work out which daimyo or lord is trying to stab some other daimyo or lord in the back is pointless. At any rate this map of where the army’s searched will come in handy, we can work out a search pattern and pass out assignments first thing after breakfast and morning prayer.”

He lifted his eyes at the sound of fresh gusts of rain pounding down on the tent roof and sighed as he turned for the tent entrance. “I’ll be happy when we can get out of this hellhole and back to something _sensible_ — like chasing bushmen through the wilds of Africa, maybe. At least it would be dry!”

His subordinate’s laugh followed him out into wet.

/oOo\

Mai dropped and rolled behind a stack of crates as shards of concrete kicked up by the submachine gun fire stitching the warehouse floor where she’d been a moment before peppered her torso and legs through blouse and skirt. _Shit, shit, shit! I should have taken the time to kill that pig when I had the chance!_ Unfortunately, the ‘pig’ in question had been the same no-name thug then that he was now, and she’d had more important and immediate concerns than leaving one more corpse behind her. How was she supposed to know that he’d be part of the smuggling gang whose leader she’d fucked to gain access to? Or that he’d recognize her years later, even with black hair instead of the blonde she’d been? So much for the subtle approach.

She glanced up the stack she was hiding behind. It seemed stable enough, the bullets now hammering into it weren’t shaking it at all, there was plenty room between the top of the stack twenty feet up and the ceiling — perfect. Crouching, she leaped straight up to silently land on one knee on the edge of the stack top. She rolled forward into the middle, paused, listened. For a moment she was worried when the gunfire stopped, until she heard the clink of an ejected magazine hitting the concrete floor followed by the click-clack of the first round of a fresh magazine being jacked into the chamber. _That was quick, someone’s been practicing._ Wriggling to the edge, she peeked over and smiled. The goon that had blown her cover was standing in front of the previous night’s fuck friend, the other two goons spreading out to circle both sides of the stack she was now on top of — perfect.

Backing up slightly, she rose to a crouch, drew two throwing daggers, then with two steps leaped out into empty space, rolled forward once ... twice ... skirt flaring, blocking her view of her target ... and she slammed on top the goon in front of the boss, breaking his neck instantly and riding his body down. Rolling across the floor, she let her momentum pull her to her feet and spun to face the other two goons now spinning around to face her. One throwing knife into a throat, another finding a heart, and she spun back around had two more _large_ knives crossed underneath the boss’s chin, pushing up to lift him on tip-toes before the bodies hit the floor.

“Well, _lover_ , it seems I’m going to have to be blunt,” she said, voice sultry — the same voice she’d used to catch his attention in his favorite bar the previous evening. “The rebels that hit the Meioh plantation, who did you get their weapons from, and who did you forward them to?”

“I ... I don’t ... don’t know wh-what you’re talking about! I didn’t h-have anything to do with that!”

She frowned at the denial, wondering if he was actually lying to her even now, then sighed as the fresh stink of human waste reached her nose. He’d voided himself in fear — if he was still lying even as terrified as he was, she wasn’t going to get anything she could use out of him. _Ah, well, at least I can make up for last night_. “You know, _lover_ , the hardest thing about last night was not laughing in your face at your delusion that you’re the world’s hottest lover instead of a fumbling incompetent. Why on Earth did you believe your usual whores?”

Then she yanked her knives across his throat and spun out of the way of the gush of arterial blood. She watched with cold eyes as the fourth body flopped to the floor, bent down to wipe her knives clean on his shirt, then strode for the warehouse exit. She doubted there would be a police response to the gunfire — not in _this_ part of town — but it was possible that he’d paid those cops for protection as well as willful ignorance. In which case she wanted to be well away before they could arrive.

/\

Several hours later Mai left her hotel, now a mousy brunette, one more Japanese-American tourist (labeled as such by her floral print sun dress and floppy straw hat). Even as she blended into the crowd of sheep she was fighting to hide her seething anger — all that effort and nothing but a dead end in the only way that mattered. She didn’t know how the Children of Israel had gotten their weaponry into the province, but they hadn’t bought it from the Imperial Army or smuggled it into the province through the usual carriers. She was back to square one. Her employer was _not_ going to be happy.

As she walked down the street toward the normal tourist attractions in the renamed Shirasaka, Daerah Selatan’s capital city, she was trying to think of a new avenue of investigation and coming up blank when her eyes caught the headline of a newspaper displayed in its dispenser beside a café entrance, and she nearly stumbled. Nonchalantly buying one, she stepped into the café, bought a badly overpriced cup of the coffee she hated but Americans all seemed to love, and sat at a table slowly perusing the paper as she sipped her drink and considered what few facts the lead article had contained. _So, Meioh-dono has sold her Daerah Selatan plantations to Tendo Ranko. I wonder why? It’s not like it helps her ‘Commoners’ Lady’ image, and it looks like she’s selling them for a song. I wonder if her anti-slavery leanings are real instead of just a front? If Hawaii is any indication Tendo-san is going to_ hammer _the human waste that’s managing those plantations, whoever those Christian lunatics leave ... alive...._

Mindful of the possibility of watchers, she forced herself to finish the paper before casually rereading the main article about the massive property transfer. Yes, Tendo Ranko was going to be touring her newest acquisitions — making a vacation out of it, it seemed. What if her manager ... Nabiki? ... was actually working with those Children of Israel lunatics, not just in agreement with their goals? What if she intended meet them while in the province? What if they took the opportunity to smuggle Mai’s target out of the province and back to Japan?

_That’s a lot of ifs, but it’s not like you have any_ other _leads to Miiko, might as well cast out your line and see what bites. So, how do I attach myself to Tendo-san’s party?_


	8. Pushing the Limits

“Father, Father, Father, you really should have listened to our suggestion and moved on to greener pastures.”

Hiroshi was unsure if his sigh at the sound of the rough voice was from resignation or relief. On the one hand, even after almost a year of intermittent training his fighting skills were close to nonexistent — for Nerima, at least. He’d simply been too busy learning the ropes as Nabiki’s right-hand gofer to train much. But on the other hand, he’d been keeping himself tucked out of sight in the chapel of Juuban’s newest Christian church for _hours_ without moving. He wasn’t _stiff_ , he’d at least learned avoid that, but he was ready to _move_.

“Hey, maybe he’s looking to make himself into a _martyr_ , like the rest of the losers the kurisuchan are always gassing on about. He’s certainly stupid enough to be one, ignoring our earlier warning. What do you say, guys, should we accommodate him? You think your Pope can use a new saint, Father?”

Hiroshi tapped his communicator in the short pattern signifying MOVE, then rose and stepped around the low wall of the choir’s ‘loft’. He picked up the staff that had been lying down out of sight on one of the pews, then ambled down the aisle toward the small band of four twenty-something otokodate thugs facing off against the preacher. Hiroshi had to give the Reverend William Jenkins points for staying cool under pressure. He actually seemed amused by the threats, even with those threats being punctuated by a display of a variety of pointy objects (though the two with sais were purely showing off, especially considering that the way they were holding them shouted their lack of skill — he might actually be _more_ experienced than those yahoos). Of course, if Hiroshi’s suspicions about just what Father Bill had been _before_ he became a minister were true, the priest probably really did find the thugs more amusing than anything else — even leaning on the cane he needed to walk.

As if to prove Hiroshi’s assessment true, Father Bill was smiling wryly. “You boys didn’t do your homework,” he asked, chuckling. “I’m Anglican, not Catholic, the Pope is no Pope of mine.”

The head punk — Daisuke, Hiroshi thought, one of the leaders of the street thugs working for the Juuban otokodate ( _as opposed to a_ Neriman _otokodate ‘thug’_ , Hiroshi thought wryly, thinking of his abrupt change in career paths almost a year ago and trying to ignore the shiver that went through him at the name of his dead best friend) — tapped his small knife on the priest’s chest. He demanded, “Do you think I give a fuck which pissant collection of barbarians you belong to?”

The priest’s grin grew hard. “You should,” he said, “I am _very_ different from the kurisuchan you know.”

Daisuke began to snarl a response, only to break off when the tap-tap of Hiroshi’s staff on the church floor finally registered. The thug glanced over toward Hiroshi and stiffened, then turned away from the priest to face him. “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

Hiroshi stopped six feet away from Daisuke and (apparently) leaned on his staff — the staff that had become a standard accessory in Nerima and was rapidly spreading through Juuban. He shrugged nonchalantly. “Nobody important, just someone concerned about an apparent assault on a holy man.”

“What ‘holy man’?” Daisuke sneered. “I don’t see a holy man, I just see a gaijin sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. You following his example? Do you know who I am?”

Hiroshi grinned. “Yeah, I do. You’re an attack dog for the Juuban bottom-feeders pretending to be otokodate. Your job is to keep things nasty here, so more kids will join your pack — which is why you’re threatening Father Bill, he’s getting in your way.” He laughed when Daisuke gaped at him like a beached fish.

The laughter blew away Daisuke’s shock, his mouth snapping shut as his face flushed with anger. He started to step forward, knife rising, when one of the others grabbed his shoulder.

The underling hissed, “Daisuke, that’s Hiroshi, he works for Tendo.”

Daisuke paused and examined Hiroshi before nodding. “I think you’re right,” he agreed, and suddenly grinned viciously. “You called me an attack dog?” he said to Hiroshi. “Better an attack dog than an errand boy. I’m surprised you had the guts to come alone.”

Hiroshi grinned back. “What makes you think I came alone?” he asked. “Guys, why don’t you say hello?”

The door leading from the chapel to the class rooms swung open, and several teenage boys stepped through, while two boys and a girl walked through the open doors to the street. None of them were carrying staves, but the boys were holding _large_ knives (Hiroshi had been told they had been designed over a hundred and fifty years ago by an American named Bowie — he was glad that he’d never meet the man), and the girl held a _very_ illegal revolver (for her, anyway — she wasn’t samurai). They were all wearing the blue-and-red colors of one of Juuban’s new street gangs.

The four thugs looked around uneasily at the latest to join the party. Hiroshi didn’t know if they recognized the five teenagers, but even if they didn’t, the sheer cold-blooded menace the newcomers seemed to radiate should have been enough to make anyone nervous.

Daisuke glanced at his followers, and was smart enough to realize that he’d just lost the confrontation. Turning back to face Hiroshi, he snarled, “We know where your family lives!”

Hiroshi didn’t lose his grin. “You’re Nakajima Daisuke. You still live at home with your mother, Sakue, your father’s dead. You are the oldest of three children, your oldest sister attending university and your younger sister still in high school. Your family’s home mortgage is with the bank owned by Juuban’s Takada Family. They are currently allied with Meioh-dono in thanks for what’s she’s done for Juuban, and _are_ your personal lords — the new rules preventing a noble from calling in debt owed by commoners not under his authority whenever he chooses don’t protect you. It would be a shame if Lord Ren chose to make use of his right to call in your debt, I doubt you’d be able to repay it. Your entire family might end up having to put yourselves up on the auction block to cover it.”

Cocking his head to one side, Hiroshi thoughtfully considered the suddenly pale thug. “Though I suppose your bosses _might_ float you the money — you’ve been a loyal foot-soldier, they’re bound to return that loyalty ... right?” He glanced at the other three thugs. “Let’s see, Arai Mushanokoji, Shintaro Eiji, and ... SaitouNobuyoki, right?” He grinned as the three also paled. “Yeah, we have files on you three, as well,” he said. “We did our research before deciding to help out in Juuban.”

He straightened, the grin vanishing as he turned grim. “Now I think we’re done here.”

The thugs glanced around at the teenagers surrounding them. There was only one more of the Tendo people than their four — but from the focus of the thugs’ gaze the massive ‘knives’ (really, they were short swords in all but name) and the revolver the girl held oh so casually were a _lot_ more intimidating than the hand-length blades they’d brought. After a long, tense moment, Daisuke nodded toward the door to the street.

The boy that had come through that door, Ho Kan, shifted well out of the way as the thugs approached, and they silently walked out.

Daisuke turned around in the doorway, and quietly asked, “Do you think this is over?”

Just as quietly, Hiroshi replied, “No, it’s only the first skirmish. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

Daisuke simply nodded, then turned and followed his underlings. Ho Kan walked over to the doorway and looked out, then closed the door and turned the deadbolt.

As soon as the door closed, Hiroshi collapsed into the nearest pew and started to shake, his heart pounding in his chest.

Father Bill stepped over and placed a hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. “You did well, my son. You showed admiral self-control as long as it was needed. There is no shame in getting the shakes afterward.”

“Thanks, Father.” Hiroshi took deep, almost gasping breath after deep, almost gasping breath until he finally relaxed, his heart rate no longer so noticeable.

The priest dropped onto the pew next to Hiroshi. “You weren’t bluffing, were you?” he quietly asked.

Hiroshi shook his head. “No, Father, I wasn’t.”

Father Bill sighed. “I thought so. Was it really necessary to threaten their families?”

Hiroshi shrugged. “We aren’t Americans, Father,” he replied. “We don’t put as much value on our own lives as you do, but families are _important_ — even extended ones. Why do you think the punishment for treason still includes selling the traitor’s family into slavery? And that’s actually a weakening of the original law — before it was changed, the rest of the family would have been crucified right next to the traitor. No, Father, if I had threatened _them_ , we’d have simply gotten blood all over your new floor and kicked off a gang war. Now they’ll pull back, wonder how much we know about them, wonder if the Takada Family is really on our side instead of staying neutral like the Families and Clans normally do when it comes to squabbles between otokodate gangs. By the time they move against us, we’ll be so firmly planted here in Juuban that they’ll never know what hit them.”

“But if they had attacked you, there still would have been that blood all over the floor.”

“And we would have left at least one of the four alive to deliver the message we gave them, then done exactly what we’d promised to their families. It would have the same effect either way.”

Hiroshi pushed himself to his feet before adding, “If it makes you feel better, Father, I suspect Nab — Tendo will ask Meioh-dono to buy back any of the families that get sold into slavery once Juuban is ours, at least the family members that don’t work directly for the otokodate infesting the district. It’ll add more weight to Meioh-dono’s rep and help Tendo sleep better at night. Along with the knowledge that Juuban won’t become a false otokodate recruiting center and replace Nerima as the the perversion capital of the Empire.”

He strode over to the other teenagers. Misake, give your gun to your brother,” he called out to the raven-haired girl. “You’ll be staying here until relieved. If any so-called otokodate show up to attack Father Bill don’t interfere, but make sure you get pictures so we know whose families to target.”

Misaki nodded, handed off her revolver to the boy next to her and strode past Hiroshi to the still-sitting priest. “Looks like you have a new secretary for awhile, Father,” she said with a friendly smile.

Hiroshi motioned for the rest to follow him. At the door to the street, he turned around. “You’re not in America anymore, Father,” he said, “and it’s a hard world. But if we all do our part, maybe — at least here in Juuban — it’ll be a better one.”

/\

When Hiroshi arrived at the pest-infested hole he was bunking at, he was surprised to find a courier waiting for him with instructions to report to Nabiki in person — immediately.

/oOo\

Kasumi hummed softly to herself as she swept the hallway between the kitchen and the family room. She was smiling as she replayed her memory of the stunned expression on Hiroshi’s face when he stumbled out of Nabiki’s bedroom/office. From what the matriarch of the Tendo family had overheard through the cracked open door, Nabiki had taken Meioh-dono’s advice to delegate to heart in more ways than one, and promoted Hiroshi from primary gofer to temporary head of Japan’s newest otokodate gang while she was on vacation. Apparently, that promotion had been something of a surprise.

But Kasumi’s amusement was short-lived, her smile vanishing as her attempt to distract herself proved momentary and her thoughts returned to the subject of the circular rut they’d worn since her nighttime conversation with her sister — a baby.

She had considered a baby of her own before, from time to time in a ‘wouldn’t it be nice’ sort of way. Then Akane had responded to her little joke by both suggesting that Ukyo could use a playmate and offering Ranma to provide said playmate, and Kasumi’s daydreams had crystalized to the point that she was finding herself needing to fight off bone-deep envy of her sister and brother-in-law’s joy in their tiny daughter.

When she’d finally realized just how badly she wanted a baby of her own she hadn’t been sure if Akane’s offer of Ranma as father had been serious. She still wasn’t sure — was mostly sure Akane _had_ been joking, actually, from her little sister’s body language since — but had run into a serious problem: who else could she find for a father? The only name she could come up with that would be worthy was Ryoga, and the Lost Boy’s directional curse could be a major problem — she was at the most fertile point in her cycle _now_. Besides, there _was_ that directional curse — it was inheritable, and the thought of _her_ child wandering away and ending up halfway around the world was terrifying. No, at the present time it was Ranma or nobody. And Akane had almost certainly been teasing her.

Kasumi’s thoughts about a baby had occupied her days and haunted her nights when the nightmares no one else knew about woke her up (unlike others she neither screamed or shouted, nor walked the halls in the middle of the night), until maintaining her usual serene mask had become a strain almost impossible to bear. Still, she’d been able to put off saying anything because there hadn’t really been anything that could be done about it. But now her cycle had reached peak fertility and soon Ranma would be using waterproof soap to lock himself in female form for Nabiki’s working vacation (after all, the plantations were owned by _Tendo Ranko_ , not _Saotome Ranma_ ), and she’d run out of time.

Then the wails of a baby waking up hungry came faintly through the ceiling, and Kasumi straightened and leaned her broom against the wall. _That_ sound over the baby monitor Akane kept with her at all times would pull her away from the dojo where she was training with the others, Nabiki had left with Hiroshi for some thankfully unknown reason (Kasumi had decided that when it came to Nabiki’s otokodate activities, she _didn’t want to know_ ). There would be no better time to have that talk. Kasumi started to shake.

/\

She’d been right, when she stepped into Akane and Ranma’s bedroom her little sister was sitting on her bed, baring one breast for Ukyo to suckle at. Akane smiled down fondly at her baby as hungry wails were replaced by contented sucking, then glanced up at her sister. Her fond smile instantly vanished, replaced by concern. She asked, “Kasumi, what’s wrong?”

 _So much for my public persona_ , Kasumi thought wryly. She took pride in her ability to maintain a serene front no matter what, and her failure now was just one more sign of how badly this was affecting her.

Rather than answer, Kasumi pulled the chair out from under Akane’s desk and sat down. She struggled to speak, but found the words wouldn’t come. _Come on, Kasumi, surely the woman that fought to defend her family can talk to her sister!_

Finally, when the clearly worried Akane began to fidget where she sat, Kasumi managed to say, “Akane, when you offered Ranma as the father of my children ... were you joking?”

Akane’s worried expression vanished, her face suddenly blank. “You’ve decided you want a child, then?” she asked.

“Yes, I do. I’ve been trying to think of another man but the only one I can think of is Ryoga and he’s never around because of his curse and I’m fertile _now_ and I don’t want a child that wanders off to other _continents_ and and I can’t find where Tofu moved when he left and I don’t want some random —” Kasumi realized she was babbling and cut herself off.

Akane giggled, the blank expression that had been scaring Kasumi vanishing with the sound. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you _do_ that,” she said with a smile. Then Ukyo started fussing and she glanced down as she bared her other breast and shifted her daughter over. When she looked back up she was still smiling. “No, I wasn’t joking. Just — it’s hard. Ranma’s _mine_.”

“We could use artificial insem —”

“No!” Akane snarled, glaring at her sister for a moment, before relaxing with a sigh. “No,” she repeated, quietly this time, “that’s no way to make a baby, not unless there’s no other way. Babies are made with joy and pleasure and love, not ... tools. I’ll talk to Ranma, you can expect a late-night visitor in your bed tonight. The next few nights, too, I think, just to be sure.” Then putting on a mock-stern expression, she added, “Remember, this is a loan! No matter how good he is in bed, you _don’t_ get to keep him.”

She started giggling again as Kasumi felt her cheeks heat up. Kasumi hid her face in her hands for a moment as Akane’s giggles turned into laughter, then abruptly stood up and walked over to the bed. She sat down next to her sister and pulled her into a one-arm hug, taking care not to disturb the still-feeding Ukyo. “Thank you, little sis, I love you too,” she whispered before fleeing the room. She was lucky she had a lot of cleaning, at least by her standards — she was going to need to keep herself busy if she wanted to avoid a nervous breakdown, and it would also allow her to avoid both Akane and Ranma for the rest of the day. She doubted she’d be able to look either in the eye without blushing, and she had a reputation to maintain, after all — however threadbare it might have become with those that loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that don’t read my other stories, I have a poll on my profile page at fanfiction.net on whether, after I finish my next story, I should start a new story right away or wait until I finish the next one. Drop in and make your opinion known!


	9. New Relations

Akane eagerly bounced, her head thrown back, eyes staring up unseeing at the night-shadowed ceiling, her mother’s milk trickling over her hands supporting her breasts, her husband’s hands on her hips holding her steady as each downward plunge ramming his engorged cock deep into her sheath forced a mew of pleasure past her lips to mix with the sounds of the creaking bed and the slap of wet flesh against wet flesh — ‘forced’ because she was doing her best to keep the noise down enough to avoid waking up little Ukyo. Since Ranma’s curse had been unlocked Akane had been leaving it up to him to manage their love life, and since resuming sex after Ukyo’s birth whenever he’d made it clear he wanted to use the bed for more than sleeping (or the furo room for more than bathing, or the dojo for more than practicing their Art, or ...) they’d passed Ukyo off to a willing (not to say eager) Kasumi, Nodoka or, more recently, Usagi. But tonight Akane had been feeling ... needy ... and she’d practically ambushed Ranma as soon as their baby fell asleep. Not that they could have left Ukyo with Kasumi tonight, anyway.

_Kasumi ..._

That was the one flaw in Akane’s mounting pleasure, the niggling sense of something important not done — she _still_ hadn’t talked to Ranma about her conversation earlier that day with Kasumi. She’d tried ... _oh_ , how she’d tried! But every time she’d steeled herself to finally find some privacy with Ranma and _say_ it her courage had failed her before she could actually do anything. And by now Kasumi was in her room across the hall, waiting. And undoubtedly listening. _You idiot!_

Akane only realized that she had gotten so lost in her thoughts that she had _stopped_ bouncing when Ranma’s hands shifted up to her shoulder blades to pull her down against his chest, trapping her hands between her breasts and his chest — just before he rolled them both over to put him on top. He paused for a moment to steal a thorough, deep, _very_ long kiss that had her gasping for air before lifting himself up onto his elbows, giving her a chance to slip her milk-slicked hands out from between them and circle his back. And then his hips flexed, driving his cock as deep into her as it could reach, before pulling back until just the tip of his cock was still between her drenched folds and hammering in again ... and again ... and _again_ , settling down to a rhythm just unpredictable enough to keep things interesting.

Akane was again fighting to keep her squeals to a whisper, hissing out through clenched teeth, her legs bent back and her heels in the air as the force of Ranma’s pistoning thrusts slamming them into the mattress practically bounced them into the air. Through the pleasure washing through her with each thrust she wondered what had gotten into her husband, he hadn’t been quite this enthusiastic since ... well, since ever. _I’ll have to jump him more often_ , she distantly told herself just before all thought washed away in her pleasure’s rising tide until —

Her hissing squeals turned into a thin shriek as the pleasure crested and tried to smash her under, and Ranma gave a grunting shout as her spasming cleft clamping down on his shaft pushed him over the edge. A few more thrusts as his seed spilled into her depths, and his arms gave way and he collapsed down on top of her.

The two lay there for a long moment, listening through their gasps for the inevitable howl from a less than happy baby — only it seemed it wasn’t as inevitable as they’d expected, and Ukyo slumbered on.

Finally, when his cock had softened and slipped out of her Akane levered him up and over onto his back — and more importantly off of _her_ — before reaching for the box of tissues on the table beside the bed. She quickly wiped herself semi-clean, shuddering slightly at the sensation of tissue-covered fingers along folds still sensitive from her orgasm, then rolled onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow. She smiled down at her husband, admiring the view lit by the moon through the window. “Wow, I’ll have to surprise you more often,” she murmured.

Ranma chuckled softly, saying, “Glad you’re not pregnant anymore. Don’t think I’m complainin’, but what brought _that_ on?”

Akane felt her face stiffen for a moment as she grappled with shock — Ranma had been ... less than energetic ... because of her _pregnancy_? She forced herself to relax. Hoping her face was enough in shadow that he hadn’t noticed, she said lightly, “Just storing up dreams for when you go girl during our vacation. I’m going to miss that hunky body of yours.” She _thought_ she saw his cheeks darken in the dim light and grinned. _Mission accomplished_. Then she remembered Kasumi and sighed, grin vanishing. She lay back down, resting her head on his shoulder. “Ranma, we need to talk.”

Akane rolled onto her back and stared blindly up at the dark ceiling for a long moment, before twisting her head to look into her husband’s eyes from a few inches away — worried eyes, she realized. _When did Ranma get so perceptive?_

“Ranma, I ... I was talking to Kasumi a few days ago about her future,” she hesitantly started. “I told her she deserved better than to be our servant for the rest of her life, but she said that she’s happy as she is — she doesn’t want a husband, she ... she said she could see to her own needs. But she _does_ want children, and soon so that the first’ll be old enough to be Ukyo’s playmate.” Pausing to take a deep breath, she finished at a rush, “Ivolunteeredyouasthefather.”

For a moment Ranma simply stared at her while he sorted out Akane’s last statement, then his eyes widened. “You _what?_ ”

Akane repeated more slowly, “I volunteered you as the father.” Turning her eyes back up to the ceiling, she babbled, “You’re perfect there won’t be any scandal beyond the child itself and Kasumi’s head of the family so it’ll inherit anyway even if she marries later and Dr. Tofu’s gone and Ryoga’s curse is inheritable and there isn’t anyone else and ... and —”

A finger touched her lips, silencing her, and she looked over to find it was Ranma’s turn to prop himself up on an elbow. “Akane, ya used ta get mad at me fer flirting if another girl just _looked_ at me too long,” he said. “Ya can’t tell me this was yer idea.”

“ _Of course_ it was —” Akane started, then broke off when Ranma grinned. “Oh, all right, don’t you dare tell her I said so, Kasumi made a joke and I took her seriously, then she took _me_ seriously,” she huffed. “But Ranma, it’s _Kasumi!_ She tries to hide it, but she hasn’t been right since she killed those ninja that were after Nabiki and your mother, not really. If giving her a baby will help make her happy, we _owe_ her.”

Ranma stared down at her for a few seconds, then said, “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he agreed. “When?”

“Well, you’re going to be spending our vacation in girl form and Kasumi says she’s at the most fertile point in her cycle, so she’s waiting for you now.” Akane felt a faint giggle force its way out when Ranma’s eyes widened.

“ _Now?_ ”

“Now,” Akane repeated, “and the next couple of nights, too, to give her as good a chance of getting pregnant as we can. But before you go ...” She reached up to push him onto his back, then rolled over to straddle him. “First, we need to get you cleaned up a little.”

She leaned down and ran her tongue around one nipple, tasting her milk smeared on his chest. Grinning when Ranma groaned at the sensation, she switched to the other nipple, then slowly slid down his body to capture his already-hardening cock in her mouth. She hummed her pleasure at the mixed flavors of his seed and her juices and grinned around her mouthful at the way his breath hitched, delighting in her ability to drive her husband wild. _Maybe he’ll stay at least part-time male_.

She sighed around the cock filling her mouth, her impish mood abruptly gone, and reluctantly let her mouthful go and rolled to a sitting position, unable to keep from giggling at the way Ranma’s eyes fixed on her chest. She cupped her breasts and flicked her thumbs across her nipples, and said, “Now you go and make my sister a happy woman, and these will be waiting for you when you get back.”

Ranma groaned. “An’ a couple more nights a’ this? I’m gonna need the girl-time during the vacation just to recover,” he murmured.

 _Not if Usagi has anything to say about it_ , Akane thought. She was actually beginning to look forward just a little to Ranma’s reaction when he — or _she_ , rather — finally realized just what their friend was after.

Then Ukyo started sleepily fussing, and Akane bounced off the bed to rush to the cradle just as the first hungry wail filled the room. She lifted the baby to a nipple and made shooing gestures with her free hand. Ranma nervously nodded, slipped on his robe, and was gone. Akane sat down on the bed and slowly rocked, humming a lullaby as Ukyo suckled, staring out the window at the moonlit night. She was surprised to realize that for the first time in weeks, she was feeling a faint twinge of hope. Maybe she had misread Ranma — maybe, between her and Kasumi, Ukyo and her soon-to-be half-sibling, Usagi for ‘Ranko’s’ needs ... maybe, in spite of Ranma’s dreams, in spite of his refusal to leave the dojo as a man, in spite of the way _her_ lust for every hunk of a man they passed on the streets was embarrassingly obvious, she would get to keep her husband after all.

Even as a tear tracked down one cheek, she fought against the urge to stomp on that flickering ember — her quiet, despairing resignation hadn’t been _pleasant_ , but it had been ... comfortable? Now with that hope came uncertainty, and the fear that she had been right in the first place twisted her gut and closed her throat. _Enough!_ she told herself sternly. _You are samurai — whatever fate the future holds for you and Ranma, you will face it without flinching_. Then, when Ukyo stopped suckling at the now-empty breast and began to fuss, Akane smiled down at her daughter as she switched her to the other nipple. _Besides, whatever choice Ranma may make, she will not abandon her daughter. Ukyo will always be a tie between us, as will Kasumi’s children._

/\

Kasumi jerked at the sound of the knock on her door, dropping her book — not that she had been reading, she’d been too busy listening to the faint sounds coming from across the hall. Though those sounds _had_ been even fainter than usual, probably because her parents had kept Ukyo in the room with them instead of handing her off to Kasumi like they usually did when they wanted a little ‘play’ time. But even those faint noises of a bed being bounced on had ended with a rather odd tea-kettle-like sound that she _thought_ was Akane, and now Kasumi’s nerves were vibrating like a plucked string.

The knock came again, and she realized she’d been staring at the door, breath stopped. Sucking in a lungful of air, she rose to her feet, hastily made sure that her robe was properly covering her (not without a spark of amusement, since hopefully she wouldn’t be wearing it much longer), put on her usual serene expression like a mask, and opened the door to find Ranma with fist raised for another knock.

Kasumi had to fight back a giggle at the sight. Not because of anything she _saw_ , exactly, he looked like his usual muscularly handsome self, but because the quiet ... even moody ... person that Ranma had become since the Blowout was gone and it was as if she was seeing again the uncertain teenager that had first arrived out of the rain with a panda three years before, badly out of his depth and trying to cover it up with braggadocio.

Then she caught the scent wafting off him, a scent she’d become _very_ familiar with from laundering the young couple’s bed sheets, and _did_ giggle. _I wonder if little sis felt the need to mark her territory?_ And just like that the urge to giggle was gone, because that was almost certainly what Akane had felt the need to do, whether she knew it or not. For a brief moment Kasumi considered calling the whole thing off, but then the sound of a brief complaint from Ukyo drifted across the hall and Kasumi’s resolve firmed. _A baby of my own...._ She stepped back. “Won’t you come in?” she softly invited, her hands going to her robe’s belt.

“Uh, actually, maybe we should take this ta the dojo?” Ranma suggested, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in what Kasumi had long recognized as a nervous tick. “I mean, s-sometimes Akane gets pretty loud, an’ ya might enjoy it more if ya aren’t worried about that, an’ —”

“That’s a fine idea,” Kasumi interrupted. “If you will fetch the futon from the downstairs guest room, I will get some clean sheets and meet you there.”

“Yeah, sure!” Ranma headed for the stairs, almost running, and Kasumi followed more slowly. _I hope Ranma relaxes a little, or this is going to be very, very awkward_ , she thought wryly. And here she had been thinking that he would be the confident one and _she_ would be the one with performance anxieties!

/\

Ranma glanced up from where he was laying out a guest futon in the middle of the dojo’s wood floor to find Kasumi standing in the doorway, her arms full of folded sheets. She glanced around the dojo like she’d never seen it — the wood-paneled walls and wooden floor warm in the bright lighting, the windows dark with night — before walking forward to join Ranma.

Ranma nervously rubbed the back of his neck as she approached as his eyes traced what he could see of the Tendo matriarch’s curves, primarily hips thanks to the sheets she was holding against her chest and the long house robe swirling about her legs. Then his nerves vanished as his mind caught up with what his eyes were telling him — Kasumi’s expression was as serene as always, but her walk just a _tiny bit_ stiff ... so tiny only someone with his experience watching opponents move, looking for the tiniest clue of their weak points or next move would have noticed. But for Kasumi, who while no martial artist always moved with the grace of a princess (or what Ranma imagined a princess to be), the hint of stiffness in her movements shouted her own case of nerves.

 _Kasumi’s always so steady an’ in control a’ herself, so responsible, so_ adult _, ya forget sometimes how_ young _she is_ , he thought — only three years older than he was, and while that gap had seemed huge when they first met it had shrunk considerably in the past year as she had recovered from the deaths she’d inflicted and Ranma dealt with a pregnant wife and faced the fear that the curse wouldn’t be unlocked and they’d all grieved for their dead.

And in this case, _he_ was the knowledgeable one, the one in control.

And just like that, his nervousness was gone. He grinned as she reached him, rising to his feet. “Here, lemme help,” he said cheerily.

Kasumi simply nodded as she dropped several sheets to the side and opened up the one she kept. She offered him one end, and in moments they had the futon covered with several sheets. Preparation finished, Kasumi’s eyes dropped as one hand played with her robe’s belt. She giggled. “Up in my room I was ready, even eager, but between there and here all my courage seems to have deserted me,” she said, a slight quaver to her laugh.

“Hey, don’t put yerself down, you’re one a’ the bravest people I know,” Ranma objected. “But this isn’t somethin’ that ya _hafta_ do, if ya don’t want.”

“It is if I want a baby of my own, and I do ... _your_ baby,” Kasumi replied. Taking a deep breath, she opened her robe and shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it drop to pool around her feet.

Ranma’s eyes followed the robe’s path, taking in the revealed beauty — firm breasts larger than his wife’s (at least, normally if not necessarily at the moment) and hips wider, giving her more of an hourglass rather than Akane’s sleek figure. And a pubic mound shaved clean, the pink of her cleft clearly visible at the joining of long, shapely legs.

Kasumi said, “I-I know I’m not as ... as _fit_ as Akane —”

“You’re beautiful, don’t ya ever let anyone tell ya different,” Ranma said. He lifted his eyes back up to her face, noting the way her hands twitched toward her cleft before being forced back to her sides, then stepped forward and gripped her shoulders. As he’d expected, the muscles under his hands were tense, even hard. “But ya aren’t gonna have much fun if ya don’t relax. Why don’t we start with a massage? Lie down on yer stomach.”

Kasumi quickly obeyed, and Ranma took off his own robe and straddled the small of her back. He shifted her long, brown hair out of his way and started at the nape of her neck to slowly work his way down, along her shoulders, arms, each hand before shifting to her back and slowly working his way down along her spine. He felt the tension oozing out of the young woman beneath him, the muscles under his probing fingers softening as she relaxed. Even when his hands shifted from her sides and the small of her back to her ass she didn’t tense up, though her breath hitched. (And a fine ass it was, firm if not as hard as his wife’s.) He smiled and continued on, slowly down one leg and then the other. By the time he reached Kasumi’s last foot she was practically purring. _Good._ He whispered, “Kasumi, roll over.”

She followed his order without hesitation, looking up at him through eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he carefully shifted her back to the middle of the futon. But when he leaned down, his lips searching for hers, she quickly interposed a hand between their mouths. “No, no kisses,” she murmured. “Kisses are for your wife.”

He paused at the statement, then shrugged with a grin. “If ya say so,” he said, “but kisses aren’t the only thing ya can use a mouth for.” He straddled her, his grin growing wider at the way Kasumi’s eyes shifted down along his body and widened at her first sight of his now fully erect cock.

She ‘eep’ed at the sight, blushing furiously when she caught his eyes when she looked up again.

He bent down, his eager mouth seeking the side of her throat. One of her hands shifted to run her fingers through his hair, her breathing coming faster as he slowly trailed kisses down to the hollow of her throat, down further along the swell of one breast, and then he captured a nipple crinkled tight with passion between his lips, flicked his tongue across it.

A breathy shriek hissed out between Kasumi’s teeth, and her back arched as the hand entangled in Ranma’s hair all but mashed his face into her breast for a long moment before she collapsed back onto the futon.

“Did you just _cum_?” Ranma demanded, incredulous, and a gasping Kasumi nodded. He thought she was blushing again, or would have been if she wasn’t so flushed with arousal. _Wow_ , he thought, _Akane doesn’t get this ready this fast, I guess she wants it fer more than just the baby, least by now_. He slipped one hand between her legs, pushing them apart, and ran a finger between hot ... and dripping ... folds that Kasumi promptly lifted to press against his hand. _Yeah, she’s ready_. He briefly considered shifting down to eat her out anyway, compare her taste to Akane’s, but reluctantly decided against it — it was getting late, there was more training for Usagi, Akane and his mother in the morning, and Akane had said she was waiting. Besides, from what his wife had said when she sent him off to her sister there would be tomorrow night, and the night after. He would have plenty of opportunity to show Kasumi the main intricacies of sex.

Instead, he shifted off of her, spread her legs wide and moved in between them, and braced himself with one hand as his other guided his cock between her folds. He paused for a moment, his eyes searching hers for any hint of reluctance, but Kasumi only growled and wiggled her hips. _Yeah, she_ definitely _wants it fer more than just the baby_. He pushed forward, groaning himself as he slowly buried his cock in a cleft that was tight beyond belief.

And froze, as he encountered something that _was_ beyond his expertise — Kasumi’s cleft wasn’t only incredibly tight, it was blocked. She still had her hymen.

 _Oh, crap!_ he thought, mind racing frantically. He couldn’t say from experience (Akane had told him that her hymen had ripped from practicing the Art before they ever met and when ‘Ranko’s’ had torn she’d barely even noticed, being hyped up on adrenaline and busy running from a homicidal purple-haired Amazon at the time), but popping a girl’s cherry was supposed to be really painful — _not_ what he wanted for the woman beneath him. “Uh, Kasumi,” he said hesitantly, “this might hurt just a—”

Kasumi grabbed his buttocks and yanked downward even as her hips thrust up, slamming his cock into her as deep as he could go. She stiffened as the pain of her torn hymen stabbed through her, but slowly relaxed as it ebbed. “There, _that’s_ taken care of, now do me!” she snarled.

Ranma laughed. “As you command,” he said. He started to pump, slowly at first but picking up speed as Kasumi braced her heels on his back and wrapped her arms around him. She encouraged him between moans and gasps, babbling demands for more, harder, faster and he obliged, the wet slap of his juices-slimed thighs against hers filling the dojo until she again arched her back and her fingernails dug into his back. She shrieked her orgasm at the ceiling and her spasming cleft clamped down on his cock.

He stopped, waiting patiently until she finally went limp, gasping, then slowly resumed pumping. He could feel his own release building, he was almost there — and then he erupted, splashing his seed deep into her still-shuddering cleft. He collapsed on top of her as his own orgasm left him limp for a moment, before using what felt like the last of his strength to roll off to one side.

For a time he simply lay there enjoying the smell of sex as his breathing slowed. Finally, he glanced toward Kasumi to find her propped up on one elbow looking down at him. He asked, “So, was it as good as ya hoped?”

“Oh. Yes!” Kasumi enthused, sitting up. “More! Masturbation doesn’t come close.” She glanced down along her body and grimaced slightly in disgust. “A little messy, though, we need to go to the furo.”

“Uh, the furo? Ummm ... Akane said she’d be waitin’....”

“I’m not asking for more tonight,” Kasumi hastened to assure him, “but I’m not sending you to your wife with my scent all over you, she might suspect something!” Ranma barked a surprised laugh at the joke, and she actually grinned at him! “You do my back and I’ll do yours, and then it’s off to bed.”

Ranma nodded and pushed himself to his feet, then paused as Kasumi used the sheets she was sitting on to wipe her cleft semi-clean of the fluids still leaking out before rising and gathering up the soiled linen. She hurried out of the dojo for the house, not stopping to even put on her robe, and he scooped up both robes, turned off the dojo’s lighting, then followed his temporary lover. _I wonder if Akane’s gonna jump me before I get ta Kasumi every night? If she does, I’m actually gonna_ want _ta get locked and head out on vacation — I’m gonna need it._

/\

As she hurried along the covered walkway between the house and the dojo, Kasumi realized she’d forgotten her robe and blushed furiously as she considered what kind of show she was giving the young man following behind her. Then she was quietly giggling just as furiously — after what she and Ranma had just done, she was blushing because he could see how her wobbly legs had to be making her bare butt jiggle!? _Maybe I should just give up clothes while at home_ , she thought whimsically, _it’s not like anyone here hasn’t seen it all, already — we’re all girls here, even the boy!_ And that thought gave her another idea....

She composed herself as they reached the outer room. Dumping the soiled linens in the hamper for dirty laundry, she led the way into the furo and grabbed up the rinse bucket. “Me first, if you don’t mind?” she asked. At Ranma’s nod she wetted herself down and grabbed the soap.

As Ranma gently scrubbed at her back (a redhead again, of course, thanks to the inevitable splash of water), Kasumi was almost purring again — it wasn’t the same as the massage he had given her, but it was close enough that the sensation combined with the memory had her shivering. She briefly considered asking Ranma to scrub her front as well, but reluctantly rejected the thought. It wasn’t likely to stop there, the hot water to switch Ranma back to his male form was in the furo a few yards away, Akane might be waiting ... and however much she wished it otherwise, Kasumi wasn’t sure she was up for a second romp just yet. She was feeling a little sore and expected to feel even more sore later. It would be a shame to spoil her memory of the magic she’d experienced so far by overdoing it.

Still, that didn’t mean the current situation didn’t have possibilities; especially if the emotional currents between Ranma, Usagi and Akane that she’d been picking up meant what she thought they did, and her thoughts returned to the idea she’d had a few minutes earlier. _Perhaps I can do Usagi a favor_....

Then she was Ranma announced she was done, and after a quick rinse it was Ranma’s turn. It had been a long time since Kasumi had done anyone’s back but her sisters’, not even Nodoka or Usagi — thanks to their training, those two usually cleaned up and soaked with Akane while Kasumi was doing housework and looking after the baby. _Hmmm ... Ranma usually does more training of his ... or her ... own while they do, then uses the furo alone. Should I hint to Usagi that ‘Ranko’ could use some help with her back?_ But after a moment’s reflection she discarded the idea, there wasn’t enough time before they left for Daerah Selatan for Usagi to properly push things. Besides, while Nodoka seemed to know something was up and approve, Kasumi wasn’t sure if she had realized that Usagi seemed to be kinda-sorta chasing _Ranko_ rather than Ranma. Nodoka had mellowed quite a bit since the Blowout, but there no telling how the older woman would react to that revelation ... best not to take chances.

Ranma wiggled a bit and asked in her female form’s clear soprano, “Ya about done?”

Kasumi jerked back, blushing when she realized how distracted she’d gotten. “Almost,” she replied, “it seems it has been awhile since anyone has helped you with your back.” She leaned forward for another minute’s scrubbing to cover her earlier distraction, then announced, “All done.”

She rose to her feet and stepped back as Ranma rinsed off, then caught her arm before the redhead could crouch to dip a hand in the furo and return to male form. “Just a moment, Ranma,” she whispered, turned the smaller woman around to face her. “Thank you for the wonderful night.” She took Ranma’s chin in hand to raise her face to meet Kasumi’s own descending lips.

Ranma stiffened in surprise for a moment, before responding to the gentle kiss until Kasumi finally stepped away. “I’m not complainin’,” the redhead said somewhat breathlessly, “but I thought ya said kisses are fer Akane.”

“It occurred to me that little sis sees your female side more as her best friend than her husband,” Kasumi explained, and smiled impishly. “So I’ll make exceptions for your cute form.” Her smile broadened when Ranma blushed, making the redhead even more cute, and briefly considered making the possibility of Ranma seeking sexual relief for her female form from someone other than Akane more explicit. _No,_ she finally decided. _True, he’s too straightforward to pick up my hint right away, but let’s let the seed germinate for awhile before pushing it further._

While Kasumi had been ruminating Ranma had stuck one foot in the furo to return to his male form, and was toweling off vigorously (an order she appreciated — as cute as ‘Ranko’ was, Ranma was a hunk!). As he finished and slipped on his robe, Kasumi stepped into the furo and sat down, sighing at the heat. At Ranma’s questioning look, she said, “I’ll just soak awhile before going to bed. Oh! You might want to put the futon back in the guest room, so Nodoka won’t find it in the middle of the dojo in the morning.”

Ranma shrugged. “Sure, but it’s not like she’ll figure out it was us, or care probably.”

Kasumi grinned. “Oh, she’d care — if she guesses it was us and why she’ll be breaking out the fans for victory dances whenever she thinks of another grandchild, and that would disrupt Usagi’s training.”

“Ya got that right!” Ranma agreed with a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll get it put away. See ya in the mornin’.” Then he was gone, and Kasumi was alone with her thoughts.

She sank deeper until the water was up to her chin, and thought about what she had just experienced in the dojo. _I thought I knew what I was missing, but I was oh so wrong,_ she thought. _No wonder Akane seemed so doubtful! But what to do? I can’t keep ‘borrowing’ Ranma, that would hurt Akane, but I’m going to want to be properly bedded more than once every few years when I’m ready for another baby. And Ranma was really the only choice_ — _wait! He was the only choice for father of my babies, but this is different!_

A big grin that she would _never_ permit in public spread across her face as she realized that unlike before the sky was the limit, and her mind started racing through all the possibilities ... only for her grin to fade as she realized that her options weren’t quite as broad as she thought. The problem was twofold. First, as much as she had enjoyed what Ranma had done to her she still didn’t want a husband — and _that_ meant she had to avoid anyone that might be tempted to eventually propose. _That_ was going to be tough, considering how well she matched the ideal of the Japanese housewife. Second, there was her reputation. Bearing children without being married would be bad enough, but that was _children_. In a way, it would be seen as a variation of her natural role in society, and considering her living arrangements the general assumption would probably be that she was Ranma’s mistress — a relationship that was perfectly acceptable in the Empire. A reputation as a _slut_ , though, could not be so easily shrugged off and would bring shame on the family, not just her.

 _So,_ she mused, frowning, _what I need is someone that won’t ask me to marry him and will be discreet. And will have a reason to drop by or for me to visit occasionally without causing talk — Ryoga!_ She grinned at the thought of the Lost Boy (Lost Young Man, really, he _was_ the same age as Ranma, after all). Now that she wasn’t looking for a father of her children, he was perfect — possibly even more of a hunk than Ranma, considerate, and with his martial arts training he _had_ to be as good with his hands as Ranma! And he not only had reasons of his own to drop by on occasion, but could do so without outsiders ever knowing he’d been by. And best of all, not only _wouldn’t_ he stick around, he _couldn’t_.

 _A little shy, though,_ Kasumi thought, _and likely inexperienced because of that. Which means I’ll have to train him. Of course, that means_ I’ll _be the one to train him...._ She smiled dreamily as half-formed images started passing across her mind’s eye, various hazy scenarios fueled by the lovemaking she’d just experienced and the romances she’d read. _I wonder what it’ll be like to kiss him ... with those cute little fangs nipping at me?_


	10. Kokomo

“You’re sure everything’s packed?” Akane asked yet again from where she stood by the open sliding doors separating the family room from the back yard, little Ukyo in her arms.

Nabiki rolled her eyes. “Yes, little sis, everything’s packed,” she replied with a long-suffering sigh, then added with a slightly malicious grin, “And even if we forgot anything, we’ll be with Kodachi — the Meioh fortune is more than large enough to buy anything we missed.”

Akane made a face at the mention of Kodachi but didn’t respond, returning her attention to her baby. Nabiki knew she was less than happy that the Meioh heiress was included in their little working vacation — was, in fact, making all the arrangements. Nabiki had actually thought for a bit that her little sister would back out. But in the end Ranma had refused to go without his wife, and Akane’s desire to get her husband out of the house ... out of Nerima ... for a while overrode her lingering distaste for her former rival. Even though her husband was going to spend the entire trip as her ‘wife’ (the plantations they would be touring were owned be _Tendo Ranko_ , after all), and there were those rumors from before the Blowout about Kodachi’s sexual escapades —

Giggles interrupted her train of thought, and Nabiki glanced over at where Usagi was catching up with her friend, Ami, a few yards from Ami’s mother getting acquainted with Kasumi and Nodoka. Nabiki wasn’t sure what to think of the blue-haired teenager, she was getting mixed signals. From what Usagi had said her fellow former slave was brilliant but bookish and quiet, which seemed true enough from what little contact Nabiki had had with her. And the girl didn’t move like a fighter. But there was something about her nonetheless ... she might not have the _moves_ of a fighter, but she had the _feel_ of one — of someone confident in her ability to deal with whatever came at her. The dichotomy was confusing, especially since there was nothing in the girl’s background to explain it, and Nabiki had long since learned that confusion was a _bad_ thing.

 _Relax, being an otokodate boss is making you paranoid. She was a slave less than a year ago, in Accounting no less, and from her records she’s been busy with school since reuniting with her mother. She’s no threat, however she feels._ Though from the look Ranma had given her when they met he had picked up on it, Nabiki thought. But it was Ranma — Ami was Usagi’s friend, so he’d apparently shrugged it off before demonstrating his curse to the wide-eyed Mizunos and leaving to grab the waterproof soap ‘she’ would be using during the trip and get changed (in both senses of the word).

A voice sounded in her earbud, one of the discreet lookouts she’d hired and scattered throughout Nerima as she had seized control of the Nerima underworld. _“Tendo-san, it looks like your ride is arriving.”_ The voice sounded ... amused?

She wasn’t worried about up-close threats to her personal safety, she was after all in the middle of Nerima and had some training herself. By Neriman standards she was the next thing to untrained of course, a total civilian, but by _normal_ standards she was ... not bad. Good enough that she thought she could keep herself alive long enough for a _real_ martial artist to come to the rescue, at least, assuming the threat wasn’t at Akane’s level or higher. And there was always a real martial artist within screaming distance. Snipers were another matter, so Nabiki had lookouts posted at the few high points in Nerima. Now it seemed those lookouts had other purposes. (There’d been a few discreet inquiries from the local police about those lookouts, but they had apparently decided on a ‘see no evil’ policy for Nabiki’s activities — she still didn’t know whether that was their own initiative or orders from Meioh-dono).

“Everyone, our ride is almost here,” she called out. “Kasumi, there’s still time for you to throw a few things in a bag if you’ve changed your mind. You’ll be here alone if you stay.”

But Kasumi broke off her conversation to simply smile and shake her head. “Thank you, little sis, but I will be fine. With the house empty and the daily tasks reduced, I will be able to focus on some projects I’ve been putting off. That will be vacation enough for me.”

“Skipping some of the world’s best beaches for some house cleaning? Nobody would believe it, Kasumi, but you’re weird.” Nabiki suppressed a frown, forcing her usual smirk instead. She wasn’t sure she believed her big sister — Kasumi had her usual serene mask in place, but she had an edge of anticipation that didn’t accord well with a few long-deferred household projects and staying behind meant no more bed time with Ranma. (And hadn’t it been a shock when she realized that _Akane_ was sharing Ranma with _Kasumi_? If the former Ice Queen had still had her old betting pools she would have set the odds so high that some lucky gambler would have cleaned her out.)

Just then the chime of the bell at the front gate sounded and Kasumi hurried from the family room through the sliding doors to the yard, followed by Akane. A few moments later an “Oh, my!” came back to those still in the house.

Nabiki’s eyebrows lifted, there had been a great deal of amusement in that exclamation. She quickly joined her sisters at the gate. She wasn’t surprised to find Kodachi there, other than that she was personally announcing her arrival rather than lounging back and letting a servant ring the bell — as reformed as she’d seemed lately she _was_ brought up a member of the nobility, even if at the lower rungs (in status, anyway, if not accumulated power). Which was why Nabiki _was_ surprised to see the line of three huge limousines parked behind Kodachi with guard vehicles before and behind. Apparently, the Meioh heir had decided to start the vacation with the ostentatious style she’d left behind with the Blowout — those limousines were so large that they would need a police escort running ahead of them to clear the roads on the way to the local airport (where, Nabiki presumed, the Amazon bodyguards she had requested would be waiting). So for _whom_ , exactly, was Kodachi putting on a show?

Nabiki commented, “I thought you were turning over a new leaf.”

“I’ve run into a small problem,” Kodachi replied, “I’ll tell you about it on the way to the airport. Shall we be off? Just tell these gentlemen” — she motioned to a handful of husky men in Meioh livery behind her — “where the luggage is.”

Kasumi quickly said, “I’ll show them. If you will follow me?”

A quick fifteen minutes later, the luggage was loaded, farewell hugs were received from and given to Kasumi, and the party had separated into three parts, Nodoka and Dr. Mizuno in the first car to continue getting acquainted, the married Saotomes along with Usagi and her friend in the next, and — at Kodachi’s insistence — Nabiki and Kodachi alone in the last.

Once the limo was in motion, Nabiki waved at her luxurious, leather-covered surroundings. “So, what’s this in aid of?” she asked. “It doesn’t exactly fit Meioh-dono’s Woman of the People image.”

Kodachi, in the seat across from Nabiki, smirked as she opened the drinks compartment and lifted out a bottle of burgundy. She quirked an eyebrow, and when Nabiki nodded she snagged a glass to fill and hand over to her guest. She then poured a glass for herself and put the bottle back, then leaned back and sipped. Finally, she said, “This isn’t about Set-chan’s image, it’s about mine.”

Nabiki hid her surprise at the honorific and the soft smile that accompanied it — apparently, the closeness the pair oh-so-tastefully exhibited in public wasn’t just a show. “Go on.”

Now Kodachi grimaced. “Apparently, my reformation has been a little _too_ successful. We’ve been getting marriage proposals, and not just from minor lordlings — some of them are from clans that ... will be _very_ difficult to say no to.”

“Really?” Nabiki frowned in thought. “I don’t see why that’s a problem. After all, they all understand you can accept only one — surely those rejected won’t take offense _too_ badly. Certainly not so badly that someone as diplomatic as Meioh-dono has proven herself to be can’t deal with the fallout.”

“The problem is that I have no intention of accepting _any_ of them,” Kodachi replied, her face suddenly controlled, expressionless. “If I did I would be expected to produce at least two children — the usual heir and a spare.”

“I see,” Nabiki responded, mind racing. “And I take it that you have no intention of supplying those heir and a spare?”

“No, I don’t. I may be a Meioh now, but I was born a Kuno, the last alive. And I will be the last — I believe the Kunos’ instability has inflicted enough harm on our people.”

By now, Nabiki was getting nervous. This was the kind of thing that was kept strictly within the family, and had to be learned through deep intelligence assets, not handed out to outsiders. Just how unstable _was_ Kodachi? “Ah ... that is ... remarkably forthright. Does Meioh-dono know of this?”

Kodachi smiled thinly, and Nabiki suspected she knew exactly what her guest was thinking. “Oh, yes, she knows. My tubes were snipped by her personal doctor.”

“Oh.” Okay, _not_ a young woman from a frequently unstable family finally cracking quietly under the strain. “So just why are you telling me this?”

Kodachi’s thin smile broadened into a cheerful grin. “Isn’t it obvious? Because I need to blacken my inconveniently too-sterling reputation! Oh, nothing like before, I have my rhythmic gymnastics martial arts schools to think about. Just enough to tweak the noses of the more uptight nobility and make myself less desirable as a marriage prospect.”

“And how am I supposed to help with that?” Nabiki asked warily — she had no idea what the answer to that question was, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know....

“By having a quietly torrid affair with me on our little tour,” Kodachi replied blithely, then broke out laughing when Nabiki’s jaw dropped in stunned amazement. Recovering, the heiress continued, “You weren’t quite as discreet as you might have been during the time we shared in the furo — especially when I was toweling off — so I thought you wouldn’t mind. Nothing too blatant in public, mind, we want the common people delighting in our tweaking of upper-class sensibilities, not recoiling at our crassness. Holding hands in public, maybe an occasional kiss on the cheek, sharing a hotel room with a single bed, torrid make-out sessions while sunbathing in the nude on ostensibly private beaches _just_ within reach of someone with a high-powered telephoto lens and enough money to bribe the right people for access, that sort of thing.” She waved a hand airily. “That should do for the more conservative clans. For the rest, having Nerima’s newest otokodate boss as a lover should make them back off.”

Nabiki was beginning to feel lightheaded from the repeated shocks. “Does _everyone_ know about that?” she demanded plaintively.

“Everyone in Nerima, certainly, and beyond Nerima anyone that really cares.” Kodachi frowned in thought for a moment. “I suppose there might be _some_ nobles whose heads of intelligence are so incompetent they haven’t figured it out yet, but I doubt it — anyone that blind would have been driven under long before now. So, what do you say, want to help me make some headlines? Just playacting, of course.” She hesitated, then added, “Unless you want it to be for real. I’ve been living like a nun for the past year, I could use a harmless fling.”

“Oh, I ... um ... yeah,” Nabiki managed to force out, mind racing with thoughts about improved security before she forced them back into line. Kasumi was well-protected, and the vacationers had both Nabiki’s and the Meioh Family security to watch over them.

“Yes to which, the playacting or the fling?”

“Uhhhhh ...” Suddenly, Nabiki felt as light as a feather. After the past year, she was _tired_ of being cautious, of second-guessing herself all the time, of making one tough call after another, of ordering people’s death and ruin, even if it was in a good cause as well as revenge. _Why not?_ Nabiki realized she was laughing, and her laughter increased at Kodachi’s perplexed expression. “Oh, the fling, certainly,” she said when she finally fought herself under control. “Why not? It sounds like fun and it’s been a long time for me, too.”

“Oh, good!” Kodachi touched a button on the door, and a panel snapped open to reveal a digital street map with one red dot crawling across it. Nodding, she touched the button again and the panel snapped closed. “We have just enough time to muss up our lipstick for the press staking out the airport. So ...” She shifted seats to settle down next to Nabiki and leaned toward her, lips parted. She breathed, “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from the song by the Beach Boys. It seemed appropriate.


	11. The Law of Unintended Consequences Strikes Again!

Usagi grinned as she bounded down the cement steps toward the beach (empty, of course, thanks to Meioh money and Amazon bodyguards) with the rest of the girls right behind her. The past week had been wonderful — sun, shopping (mostly window-shopping, she and Ami didn’t have much in personal funds and the Tendos had avoided both insulting their guests by offering to buy things for them and spending money their guests couldn’t match), fine restaurants (those Ranma through Nabiki _was_ paying for), and beach time. Plenty of beach time, actually, it seemed like they’d hit a different beach every day.

Every _afternoon_ , actually, and Usagi switched her bodyboard from under her right arm to her left and rotated her right shoulder, wincing at the twinge from the movement. Even if so far the emphasis on ‘working vacation’ had been all on ‘vacation’ rather than ‘working’ Ranma had made sure not to skimp on her student and wife’s training, and Usagi had tried for a little extra twist when landing from a throw to bounce back up faster and her gamble hadn’t paid off. Still, in spite of the lingering soreness she was _really_ looking forward to some sun and surf — especially surf, she’d fallen in love with bodyboards from the first day on.

The small mob reached the sand and Usagi dropped her bag and towel, ready to charge for the water, when Akane nudged her.

“Um, Usagi? You might want to check that sign out.”

“Sign? What sign?” Usagi looked around, and her eyes widened when she finally noticed the large sign she’d passed at the foot of the steps: NUDE BEACH. She whipped around to stare at Nabiki (it was the middle Tendo that had chosen the beach, after all), to find the budding CEO with her bikini’s top already off and pushing her bottom down her hips, Kodachi beside her already naked and stuffing her swimsuit in her bag, revealing that both had shaved more than their legs. (So had Usagi, for that matter, but they lacked her excuse that her chosen swimsuit required it.)

Nabiki grinned back. “Hey, we’re all girls here, with the mothers resting back at the hotel with Ukyo,” she said, the laughter in her voice undoubtedly from Usagi’s mounting blush. “But nobody’s forcing anything, keep your swimsuit on if you want — or not, it wouldn’t make much of a difference.” She stuffed her own suit in her bag, took Koadachi’s hand, and the two strolled away toward a bend in the shoreline that would give the pair some privacy from the other four girls. “Don’t come around the bend unless you want to join in!” Nabiki called back over her shoulder.

Usagi’s blush deepened at the reminder, both of her swimsuit and why she’d chosen it — her swimsuit, consisting of the proverbial ‘three tiny triangles (blue) and some dental floss (green)’, had shocked Ami when her friend had first seen it — but her eyes cut over to Akane in time to catch her twitch of a nod for encouragement. _Right, Ranma._ Their plans for her redheaded sensei was why Akane had suggested that swimsuit, after all, when the two had gone shopping (though she hadn’t explained her _sotto voce_ mutterings about purple-haired bimbos), and Dr. Mizuno (“Call me Saeko.”) had stayed at the hotel with Nodoka and little Ukyo so she wasn’t around to be shocked — or tell Usagi’s mother about it, later. _Come on, girl, Ranma’s already seen it all, and_ she _is the important one. Besides, you_ want _her to see it all again_.

Taking a deep breath, Usagi dropped her board to reach behind her and pull loose the bow-tied knots behind neck and back, then did the same for the same knots on each hip and spread her leg to let the loose bottom drop down beside her top on the sand. Forcing herself to stay relaxed, she scooped up the suit from the sand and stuffed it in her bag before snatching up her board again resuming her run for the water. She was still blushing furiously and refused to look at the others, _especially_ Ranma.

/\

The crime lord and the noble heir strolled around the bend in the beach, Nabiki luxuriating in the feel of warm sun on skin — _all_ her skin, at least on one side — even as she fought to control her giggles.

Then Kodachi said, “Did you see their _faces_? I thought Ami’s eyes were going to pop out of her head!”

Nabiki promptly lost her fight with her giggles. “And Usagi!” she chortled. “I thought she was going to pass out from all the blood rushing to her head, and chest for that matter — I think she blushed all the way down to her tits!” _Though she can’t seem to figure out whether she wants to jump on Ranma, or hide from him_. Usagi’s behavior during their little vacation had been decidedly odd.

Kodachi joined in the laughter, until the pair came to a likely spot. “As fun as it was to prank the children,” she finally said as the giggles died away, “we have a much bigger audience in mind. Anything?”

“You'll know when I do,” Nabiki replied, “let’s stick to sunscreen for now.” She spread out her beach blanket, Kodachi beside her. “You first, I think.”

Kodachi nodded and lay down on her stomach, then sighed contentedly as Nabiki squirted a generous dollop of sunscreen into one palm, rubbed her hands together, and started to stroke the back of her temporary lover’s legs. The heiress murmured, “This might be the best prank I’ve ever played. It’s certainly the most relaxing.”

/\

If Lei-wai had known of Kodachi’s judgment, she would have disagreed vehemently. The Amazon bodyguard found watching one of the bottom feeders masquerading as journalists (assuming _all_ journalists weren’t just caricatures of themselves) rapidly setting up a video camera on a spot that gave a perfect view of the piece of beach currently occupied by two of her charges — and so a perfect sight line for a sniper rifle — to be _incredibly_ stressful. But Tendo-san had given her and her partner their marching orders, and the two Amazons had reluctantly agreed to the plan. Though she did have to admit that, in abstract, it was rather clever. In abstract.

She slipped down behind the rock she was hiding behind, leaving the bottom feeder to her partner for a moment to whisper into her mic: “The fish has taken the bait, but he brought a video camera.” Message delivered, she resumed her post. There wouldn’t be a response, since Tendo-san and Kodachi-san weren’t wearing headsets of their own. Or anything else besides a single earplug, their little charade precluded even so much as a throat mic.

/\

Nabiki moaned softly as Kodachi’s hands ran along her lower ribs just under her breasts, then her breath hitched as those hands covered those breasts and gently squeezed. Yes, even beyond the fun of playing with the public, this little fling was _just_ what she needed. Still ... She cracked her eyes to peer up at the smiling girl straddling her thighs. “Aren’t you getting a intimate,” she asked, then squeaked when those wonderful hands left off massaging her breasts to concentrate on her nipples. “The ... the photographer will be here any ... any moment,” she managed to gasp out, “ ... look strange going from this to ... ahhhh ... to making out.”

Kodachi’s smile turned impish. “I’ve been thinking about that,” she purred, then broke off as their earbugs came to life: _“The fish has taken the bait, but he brought a video camera.”_

At the alert, Kodachi’s smile actually broadened. “So, showtime,” she said, then dropped down to press breasts to breasts with her temporary lover, her arms bracing her on the beach blanket and pinning Nabiki’s arms against her side, her mouth eagerly seeking the Tendo’s. Nabiki threw aside her question of just _what_ Kodachi had been thinking as her lover’s lips pressed against her own, tongue eagerly probing — Kodachi was feeling possessive, which meant for the moment all Nabiki needed to do was relax and enjoy the ride.

Then Kodachi shifted, sliding to one side until she was lying half-on Nabiki, one leg slipping between her lover’s and pressing against the damp heat building in her groin. The Meioh heir broke off their tongues’ duel to slowly trail kisses across Nabiki’s cheek to the hinge of her jaw, down to the base of her throat. She slid down along Nabiki’s body and Nabiki hissed, her hands fisting in the beach blanket as her lover’s leg and hip slid along her shaved pubic mound and nether lips as fingers continuing to play with a nipple sent jolts of pleasure through her body.

Nabiki tried to force a thought through the building haze of pleasure: _What ... what can ..._ “Ahhhhh!” ... _what can ... he seeeeeee!_ As Kodachi’s mouth continued its journey down along her upper chest and breast, Nabiki undulated to disguise fractionally lifting her head for a quick peek — Kodachi’s body, angled as it was half-on half-off of her, hid the direct view even as the positions of head and arm made it clear what was actually happening. _Good enough_ , Nabiki distantly thought, dropping her head back and closing her eyes as Kodachi’s fingers abandoned her nipple to her lover’s lips.

A moment later those fingers brushed along the silken skin of Nabiki’s pubic mound, and Nabiki whimpered and panted as they slipped across her now-protruding clit to slip between her puffy-wet folds then probe inward, all thought and sense of time lost to the sensations of the sand-soft beach blanket beneath her, warm sun and body-warmed shade, tongue and teeth gentle on her rock-hard nipple, fingers slipping and probing her wet heat — and then Kodachi’s palm pressed against her clit as two fingers probed and twisted _just_ so, and Nabiki _shrieked_ , her body bucking as the most intense orgasm of her _life_ ripped through her.

Kodachi shifted to hold her down as she writhed in place until she went limp, panting, then pushed herself up on an elbow as she offered Nabiki fingers wet with her juices. “Well, it seems someone has exhibitionist tendencies,” she purred. “Who would have suspected such a thing from Furinkan’s notorious Ice Queen?”

Nabiki ignored her for a moment as her tongue slipped between and around the offered fingers, then she sighed as Kodachi slowly pulled her hand back until the now-clean finger slipped free with a slight pop. “Maybe so,” she managed to get out, chest still heaving, “but it’ll have to be our little secret. It’s not like I’ll get to indulge it much. Your turn.”

“No, later at the hotel,” Kodachi said, sitting up. “The video will have more impact, I think, if it’s one-sided. Why don’t we go swimming a bit to wash off the sweat, then sunbathe for awhile before we rejoin the others?”

/\

Yosida Masazumi was grinning as he broke down his video equipment for a rapid departure (much to the relief of his hidden watchers). The bribes and promises for the beach front security to let him sneak in to this spot had been astronomical — those bribes had taken every mon he had and a loan besides, if his gamble hadn’t paid off he would have ended up on the auction block along with his family. The last not officially, of course, not after the recent changes in law so that family members were no longer responsible for their elders’ debts. But he was his family’s sole source of income, and his wife and older children would probably have been forced to follow him onto the block just to avoid starvation.

But the gamble _had_ paid off, and with video this salacious of _the Meioh heir_ he expected to not only make back every mon but even after divvying up the take with the beach security to have enough of a profit that, invested well, he wouldn’t have to worry about basic needs for the rest of his life! He would finally be able to stop celebrity-chasing and work on the documentaries he’d dreamed of since he was a teenager.

Yes, there was no way the guards that he’d bribed would veto _this_ video. Life was very good, indeed.

/oOo\

Masazumi was right, his video was a massive hit, the ryo pouring in as viewers paid the slight charge to see two nubile young women ‘frolicking’ in the buff, one the heir of the Empire’s newest Lady (both Lady and heir already making major splashes in society, both high- and non) and the other the CEO of the Empire’s most rapidly growing family corporation — a corporation _very_ closely allied with the Meioh Family, obviously. Yes, interest in the video was _very_ high.

There were quite a few people, though, whose interest in the video, while as intense as anyone else’s, had nothing to do with lust. For them, life was _not_ so good.

/\

Mori Hachemon stared at his tablet, and the image of the Meioh Family heir and the independent boss of the Nerima otokodate ‘frolicking’ on a beach. Normally, he would have enjoyed the extended video clip as much as any other red-blooded male — he wasn’t _that_ old yet. Unfortunately, his position as the supreme otokodate boss of Juuban, among other territories, rather spoiled any enjoyment he might have gotten out of the display, because he wasn’t seeing nubile young girl-on-girl action — he was seeing was raw power.

When he had read the report from the gurentai that had tried to lean on Father Bill in Juuban, both of the Neriman gurentai that had intercepted them and the threats against his people’s families their leader had made, he had had his doubts; normally, the nobility stayed out of otokodate quarrels within their holdings — so long as the otokodate stayed low key and didn’t step over certain lines (as the otokodate in Nerima had) they figured rooting out the organized crime wasn’t worth the cost. But the important word was ‘normally’, and the situation in Juuban was far from normal. Still, considering how weakened that lording’s Family had become after Kuno-dono’s assault, Mori had decided that the Neriman gurentai’s threats were a bluff.

Now, he wasn’t so sure. Actually, that was wishful thinking — as much as he might wish it otherwise, he was sure it _wasn’t_ a bluff. Nabiki was closer to Meioh-dono than he had remotely imagined, and Takada-dono _owed_ Meioh-dono for what she’d done for his Juubanites that had had to sell themselves into slavery — in fact, in him she probably had her first subordinate ally from among the Families. If she quietly asked him to call in the loans of the families of Mori’s people in his district, he would. And with Takada-dono actively siding with the Neriman otokodate plus Meioh-dono’s quiet support, there was no way Mori could do anything but delay the inevitable. He’d lost.

/\

Ikari Gendo sighed as the video clip finished and closed the window on his desk monitor before leaning back in his office chair. This was _not_ good. How could Nabiki _do_ this? It was Kuno Kodachi! Yes, it had been her brother that had been responsible for the death of her father and kidnapping of her sister, the assault on her family home, but Kodachi was still a Kuno regardless of what her official family name was. And now she had not only been taken under the wing of a woman that was proving _much_ better at playing the Great Game than she should be for someone that had been a commoner only a year ago, but Kodachi was now publicly linked with the Empire’s youngest otokodate boss, a girl whose potential power was all out of proportion to her age and wealth because she had the martial artists of Nerima under her thumb. While most of the martial artists weren’t a match for a fully armed street samurai, some of them were. And even in the case of the ones that weren’t the fact that most of them didn’t need weapons to efficiently slaughter someone made them harder to defend against — they could be _anybody_.

He turned in his chair to stare out his window as rising anger twisted his gut and choked his throat. _It could be a prank_ , he thought. _That would certainly fit with Kodachi’s old reputation. Perhaps she’s reverting to type and Nabiki is playing along for her own purposes?_ That would certainly make things easier, but he couldn’t be that lucky. And more, he couldn’t just hope, he’d have to plan for the worst. _That_ meant more improvisation, and his last improvised plan involving Nerima hadn’t worked out so well. Oh, all it had cost him was a few ronin and some Kuno-marked weapons he wouldn’t have been able to make efficient use of later anyway, not after the Kuno Family had been subsumed into the new Meioh Family. Still, it had been a waste of resources and a lost opportunity. He would just have to hope that things worked out a little better this time. Why couldn’t Nerimans behave like they were supposed to? He wasn’t ready yet! Again!

 _So ... Setsuna is in a fairly secure position at the moment. She’s eliminated those Kuno resources that were hardest to defend and used her own fortune to provide the security needed to protect the rest while the chaos subsides. No, best to leave her alone for now, wait until she gets comfortable, feels safer. Nabiki, on the other hand, is moving into a new territory, pushing the otokodate boss that rules it to the wall. It shouldn’t take much to spark a war that could leave her seriously weakened if not eliminated. Mori_ does _have a much larger area than she does, after all._

Gendo grimaced at the ‘tone’ of his own thoughts. He was having trouble convincing himself, he had _no_ hope of convincing Katsuragi. She was going to sit across from him with that blank expression that meant she thought he was being an idiot and calmly point out all the reasons it was a bad idea. But it was the best he had at the spur of the moment.

He turned back around and brought up his computer’s vidphone to send an alert to his black ops officer that she was wanted. This was going to involve more wetwork, and _highly_ secretive at that — they _still_ hadn’t found the traitor that had passed on warning of his last Neriman operation. Maybe this would actually help smoke out that weak link.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On currency, mon and ryo are generic monetary values rather than actual coins, about 2/3 of a cent and $16 respectively. With most currency in electronic form, I thought it made sense that those would be the terms used if they existed (which they don’t in English).
> 
> And for those that haven’t read _The Fall of the House of Kuno_ in awhile, the traitor Gendo is obsessing about is actually Pluto’s Time Gates. Good luck smoking that out....


	12. Circling Wolves

Shiraishi Yura stepped out of the secondhand store, still shaking her head at the clothing selection she’d found there. Sometimes real gems were to be found but no luck this time, she would just have to buy new or do without. And now was not the time for it, not with Tendo-san due to visit the plantation where she worked — Typhoon Tendo Nabiki had rolled over the first of her cousin’s new plantations and the media was already reporting the first mass lay-offs and imported management from the home islands. Yura strongly suspected that when that typhoon reached her own plantation she would be added to an ever-growing list — the creative accounting Sugiyama Kenichi, the plantation manager, had convinced her to use probably wasn’t _quite_ egregious enough to send her to the whipping post and put her bank account in the negative for years to come, but it was more than enough to get her discharged without a letter of recommendation. And Sugiyama wasn’t even around to share her misery; he’d been murdered along with the plantation doctor, an overseer, and a resident scientist when those Christian terrorists had raided the plantation.

_Why did I ever listen to Sugiyama-san?_ she thought despairingly as she turned into the alleyway beside the store that led to the back lot where she’d parked her car. _I could have been an employee of a new Family, become one of its retainers, bind my own future family to its fortunes! Now I’ll be lucky to stay out of a dockside whore house, any children I have will be destined to become otokodate thugs or whores just to survive_. She held her breath as she strode past an eatery dumpster to avoid breathing in the stench of food waste rotting in the muggy Daerah Selatan heat. _I don’t know why I bother, it isn’t any worse than the docks — I ought to start getting accustomed to it_.

She was so caught up in her unhappy ruminations that she never noticed the shadow slip out from behind the dumpster, didn’t realize anyone was around until a hand slapped across her mouth and a thin blade pierced her back to slice up to her heart.

/\

Mai held tight to Yura’s convulsing body until it was deadweight hanging limp in her hands, then lay the corpse on the filthy concrete of the alley. She quickly went through Yura’s pockets, removed her wristwatch, her earrings, a locket and dumping them in a small bag. As soon as the body was stripped of all valuables she hoisted it up and shoved it over in the dumpster — leaving the crude homemade stiletto in the corpse — hurriedly whipped off the long overcoat she’d worn over the worn ‘uniform’ of a local street gang, stripped off her gloves and bundled them up in the jacket with the bloody side in, and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. Snatching up her bag of loot and the purse Yura had dropped, she avoided the few bloodstains on the concrete as she sauntered out the back of the alley into the parking lot to toss her loot into the beat up old two-seater that she’d ‘borrowed’ from a member of the gang whose colors she wore, hopped in, and drove away.

_Well,_ that _went smoothly_ , she thought as she discreetly looked around, checking for anything or anyone that felt out of place. _A little_ too _smoothly, actually_ , she added critically. _It’s supposed to look like a mugging, not a professional hit, but she was too easy a target_. Still, even if the corpse was discovered right away and not assumed to be just another opportunistic lethal mugging, there was nothing to connect her to the murder. And now there was an opening at the plantation her target worked at that she could step into, courtesy of Sugiyama’s replacement and the massive bribe she’d offered him. He’d been pathetically eager to accept it, undoubtedly due to his own desperate need for a nest egg once Tendo Nabiki inevitably figured out that he was as corrupt as the manager he’d replaced and threw him out. (Not that the size of the bribe mattered much, since she’d just recover the money while tidying up loose ends — including him.)

So maybe, if she got _really_ lucky and Tendo-san was actually in contact with the terrorists, and Miiko was still with them, and they contacted Tendo-san while she was at the plantation, and Mai managed catch the contact and it trace back to the source without being discovered and get the few minutes she needed with Miiko, and she managed to not get caught by the inevitable manhunt or the Imperial Army, then Mai _might_ be able to complete her mission. It wasn’t much better than trying to find Miiko by tossing darts at a pinned-up map of Daerah Selatan — a _tiny_ map — but it was the best lead she had.

/oOo\

Malik Abd-al-Haqq stayed absolutely motionless as he listened to the patrol pass by behind him, not daring to so much at turn his head enough to catch the Christian terrorists out of the corner of his eye, silently cursing himself for a fool even as he prayed that the camouflage print he was wearing did its job. In spite of the well planned and executed — and audacious — assaults the anti-slavery fanatics had carried out on several of the Daerah Selatan plantations, he had been subconsciously treating them like careless, undisciplined African bandits. Now, he waited to see if his mistake was going to kill him. _Inshallah_.

But it seemed his God was feeling generous this time and the patrol didn’t notice him through the foliage along the edge of the clearing, instead continuing on their way. He waited for long minutes after their passage, and when nothing else happened finally relaxed and returned his attention to the community down in the low, open bowl of ground.

From the tree stumps he could see scattered throughout it was newly cleared ground, and he frowned thoughtfully as he considered what that meant because the position was completely indefensible. Oh, it had a four-strand barbwire fence around it with gates north, south, east and west and what he now suspected were minefields just inside those metal strands where none of the larger local fauna reach it. But still, any determined assault would roll right over it.

_And that’s probably the point_ , he decided, _because any attack by the Imperial Army will be just that — determined. They don’t have the men to survive that, so they’re settling for keeping the camp as_ hidden _as possible, and put up just enough defenses that they can feel they’ve done something_. Which was why it was down in the bowl, of course, to keep it hidden. And why the camp’s residents were so quiet.

He spent the next several hours watching, counting people. The men were all armed, even the ones that didn’t seem comfortable with the added burden, and far outnumbered the women. Not that there weren’t a good number of women as well, he was surprised by the sheer size of the camp’s population.

Three times, patrols passed him by, two from the left and one from the right. The timing was also irregular, he couldn’t count on having a set time to act between patrols. Smart.

He hadn’t seen any cameras, or any other kind of electronic surveillance. But then he wasn’t hearing a generator, either — another sacrifice of security to staying hidden. Might they have batteries that they used to power nighttime electronic surveillance, set up to scan the surroundings from within the perimeter?

Finally, deciding he’d learned everything he could, he waited until a fourth patrol passed by (again from the right) and silently slipped away.

/oOo\

Ryoga sat on the very edge of the massive wall of ice under a brilliantly clear blue sky as across the Antarctic bay, with a sharp echoing cracks and roar of displaced water a mountain-massive chunk of ice calved off of the edge of the glacier pushing out over the ocean. The first time he had seen new icebergs break away from their mother glacier it had been during his randomly wandering days and so purely by accident and entirely too close — only the best leap of his life to date and accepting deep cuts in his palms when he used his ki-stiffened throwing bandanas as ice picks had saved him from freezing to death or drowning, whichever would have gotten him first if he’d fallen into the water. Assuming there weren’t any leopard seals or sharks nearby, that would love to snack on a drowning piglet trying to fight his way out of water-logged and sinking clothes.

But now that emerald-haired, fuku-clad maybe-crazy too-knowledgeable woman had clued him in on how his curse wasn’t actually a curse, he had returned several times to see the magnificent sight again ... from a safe distance, this time.

“It truly is a wonderful world, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Ryoga replied to that maybe-crazy woman. He’d detected her presence the instant she’d arrived. After she’d startled him a few times, he’d begun to figure out how to detect the odd-feeling energy that she seemed to carry around with her — he was suspected it was magic, because he damn well knew it wasn’t ki — so he’d known the instant she had blinked into existence several yards behind him.

She sat down next to him, and he turned his head to take in her youthful beauty through the tunnel vision of the hood of his heavy winter coat: from her bare, muscular legs on dislpay to her slim black-skirted, white fuku-clad torso up to her shiny emerald hair framing the face whose appearance he couldn’t remember from one moment to the next. “And I’m the lucky one that gets to wander it to my heart’s content.”

She giggled as she shook her head. “I’ll give that one an eight for sincerity, and ... a two for originality.”

But she sounded pleased, and Ryoga smiled. That was the highest score he’d received for sincerity since his occasional visitor had announced she was going to ‘toughen him up’ and begun flirting with him mercilessly, and he’d actually managed to say it without blushing.

The two sat in silence for a time, watching as another glacier calved. After the explosion of sound washed over them, she said, “You might want to wander back to the Tendo dojo as soon as we’re done here.”

Ryoga glanced at her again, seriously this time. For a moment he hesitated, then blurted out the question that had been bothering him for months. “Can you see the future?”

She laughed softly. “So you finally asked! You just won me a night out at a restaurant of my choice. Yes, I can — after a fashion.” Suddenly serious, she drew up her knees and propped her chin on them as she hugged her legs. “I can see the most likely future, and something of just how likely it is. But unlikely things happen, and I’m as blind to them as everyone else.”

“Ah.” Deciding that he’d learned as much as he ever wanted about the powers of what he suspected was some sort of kami, he quickly changed the subject. “So another attack on the dojo? Big enough that Ranma and the Amazons can’t deal with it? How certain is it?”

She uncoiled, leaning back on her arms braced behind her and gave him a grateful smile. “No, not that powerful, but the only one home right now is Kasumi. She’s actually gotten respectably skilled with a revolver, but she isn’t up to an assault by street samurai armed with assault rifles on a suicide run, they’d take her down before the Amazons can intervene. And it’s as certain as events get — tomorrow morning just after breakfast. Don’t worry about beating them off, just get her out when the attack goes in and leave the attackers to the Amazons.” Then her smile turned impish, and she added, “If you leave right now, you can get there in time for Kasumi to cook a private dinner for two instead of one.”

Ryoga hastily clambered to his feet and raced to where his pack was resting several yards away. He stripped off his coat to reveal a worn and patched but clean shirt, strapped the coat to the pack, swung it to his shoulders and grabbed up his umbrella, and within a few steps vanished from sight. He’d been so focused on Kasumi’s divine cooking that he hadn’t even blushed at the insinuation of a _private_ dinner.

Behind him, Sailor Pluto sighed as her smile vanished, and she leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees and rub her face. It was _hard_ flirting with the former Lost Boy like that, it just wasn’t _her_. But he had gotten better at both catching the nuances and not going comatose at the implications — when his stomach wasn’t doing his thinking for him — which opened up all sorts of possibilities for his own future.

_When did you get to be such a softy?_ she wondered. _Playing matchmaker at_ your _age!_

She pushed herself back from the edge of the ice cliff and rose to her feet to watch the grandeur of one last iceberg calving off to crash into the ocean, then _stepped_ away. She had a date of her own with her own loves and little girl, one last quiet night before things started to get hectic.

/oOo\

In his personal tent at the Daerah Selatan Jihad’s temporary headquarters (the construction of the more permanent housing having been delayed from lack of manpower), Giray Karakaya shook his head in bemusement where he sat beside his collapsible desk. “So, instead of just coordinating the search, you assign yourself a patrol and leave before I see the roster,” he said, “and of course you’re the one that finds the camp.”

Malik grinned, but didn’t fall out of his exaggeratedly braced ‘stand at attention’. “It worked out, didn’t it? What was that American saying you used after that frontal assault against the French Congolese? That’s right, ‘if it’s a stupid idea but it works it’s not a stupid idea’.”

“Yes, and now I understand why Colonel Yagmur didn’t particularly care for that quip,” Giray responded dryly, “the mind boggles at the thought of everything that could have gone wrong. Still, I suppose I should cut you as much slack as he cut me.

“But however you managed it, I’m glad you did it quickly because we may have an issue.” He picked up a tablet and handed it to his second. “The latest intelligence and news download.”

Taking the offered tablet, Malik read the first paragraph and winced. “Nerima, really?” he said with a sigh as he felt for the chair he hadn’t taken before and collapsed into it, weariness from the long patrol only partly responsible.

“It likely isn’t as bad as it seems at first glance,” Giray said. “Intelligence assigns a _very_ low probability to the possibility that the Christian guerillas and Miss Tendo are cooperating. The odds are that this is exactly what it seems — the Empire’s newest Lady divesting herself of a mess she doesn’t want to deal with while cementing her alliance with the Tendos, and Miss Tendo taking the opportunity to expand her new family corporation and strike a blow against the unofficial slave system in Daerah Selatan the same way she has in Hawaii. But notice who actually owns that corporation _and_ who’s here in the province right now.”

“Ranma Saotome, also known as ‘Ranko Tendo’,” Malik practically moaned. “That boy has great big brass ones, even if he doesn’t have any at all half the time. Or all the time at the moment, it seems,” he added as he read about the Tendo family’s ongoing vacation disguised as a tour of their newly acquired plantations. “We don’t have anyone or anything that can deal with him if he gets involved, unless we catch him by surprise and get _really_ ... no, scratch that, he has Amazon bodyguards; they all do.”

He set aside the tablet and leaned back in his chair to stare at the nylon roof as the sound of fresh light rain pattering down filled the tent. He mused, “I suppose I can see where Intelligence is coming from, assigning such a low probability to the Tendos and the Children of Israel cooperating. The American Christians don’t generally deal with magic or the supernatural very well.”

“Not all, no, but there are exceptions,” Giray replied. “Which is why we are going to strike fast, without further reconnoitering. If they _are_ cooperating, we want to attack before Ranma and any other Neriman martial artists he’s brought with him have a chance to join them.

“Now go get some rest, you’ll need it. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

Malik nodded wearily and pushed himself to his feet, then mock-saluted and left to hurry to his own tent, to keep from getting too wet.

Once there he stripped out of his muddy, sweat-stained camouflage and tossed them in a tiny hamper where a private could collect them later for washing. On his own table there was a steaming bowl of water, and he used the water and the washcloth beside the bowl to wipe himself down. He pulled on a fresh set of clothes and looked longingly at his cot and sleeping bag for a long moment, but finally turned to the table and his own tablet. As hard as sleep was trying to force itself on him, he needed to check his own messages.

A few minutes later, he leaned back and rubbed at tired eyes, wishing he’d waited. The delay wouldn’t have changed anything, but he would have gotten a decent night’s sleep out of it. It wasn’t like his _second_ set of superiors would know exactly when he returned to his tent. Unfortunately he hadn’t, so he leaned forward on his elbows and reread his friend’s death sentence: _Giray Karakaya is not to return to Dar al-Islam_.

As he stared at the message Malik muttered, “Iblis take you, Giray, why couldn’t you have played the game? Or at least been more discreet in your derision?” As soon as he realized what he’d said he snapped his mouth shut — he was more tired than he’d thought, if he was saying things like that out loud. But his silence didn’t change the facts: Giray was simply too competent, too obviously incorruptible and devout, too popular. It didn’t matter that he himself was oblivious to his possible future revolutionary role, the powers that ruled Dar al-Islam — whose own security lay in maintaining the status quo, however corrupt — had decided he was a possible threat and needed to be taken off the board.

_Well, it won’t be Iblis taking you, old friend, though I’m not so sure of my own destination when my time comes_. Still, maybe he could use this to at least see to it that Giray’s last mission was a success. They were asking Malik to kill a friend, after all, they wouldn’t be surprised if he demanded a price — even one as high as this. And if they refused to pay, he’d ... think of something.

He quickly typed in a message for his handlers: _I need a Lamp_.


	13. Making Their Moves

Father Bill sighed happily as he stepped out of his church’s open double doors and took a deep breath of the cool, clean air. There was much he didn’t like embedded deep in Japanese culture, but its respect for nature wasn’t one of them. Oh, he had no doubt that the rich Clans and Families that powered the Empire’s economy were as greedy as any European noble, Islamic notable, or American plutocrat, but they were also products of their culture and couldn’t simply live in indoors when in the city and only go out when the air was clean (or at least cleaner) or when enjoying their country estates. And the only good thing about air pollution was that it refused to stay local — the Empire’s rich couldn’t clean up their own air without cleaning up everyone else’s. The result was that Japan’s factories belched out the least pollution of any nation or empire in the world. (Though he couldn’t say the same about the _Empire_ , the factories in the Chinese provinces were a nightmare.)

Beside him, Misaki was dithering. “ _Please_ , Father, won’t you stay inside today?” she pleaded. “It hasn’t been that long since Mori’s gurentai threatened you. It’ll only take a few weeks to cement our claim to Juuban and then you’ll be safe. If you won’t think of yourself, think of your flock!”

Father Bill suppressed a sigh that wasn’t at all happy. Misaki meant well, and in a way the dithering was an improvement — as the days passed since Hiroshi had made her the priest’s temporary minder the pair had become friends, growing to understand each other better through exchanging stories. (Not that there were many points of similarity between a bitter young girl sold into slavery as a young teenager who had run street wild since she was freed and a southern Texas ranch-raised Marine before he felt called to the ministry.)

“I _am_ thinking of my flock,” he patiently explained yet again. “I may have put down my sword when I picked up the Book, but I have to stand strong if my flock is to stand with —”

He caught the glint of light on the roof of a multi-story business building down the street, and without thinking grabbed Misaki and yanked her back through the church’s doorway, tripping her and spinning to land on top as the sniper’s bullet punched through the door and a streak of fire slashed across one leg. Even as the sound of the shots reached them, he was rolling off of the girl and scrambling on hand and knees deeper into the church, pulling Misaki in with him.

As more bullets kicked up splinters from the floor Misaki helped push herself inside, then drew her Bowie knife, eyes scanning the buildings across the street for a rush of gurentai ... nothing. The snipers had been alone. Drawing a shuddering breath, she said in a voice perhaps higher than it should have been, “We’re supposed to be protecting you, Father, not the other way around.”

He grinned at her, eyes bright from his adrenaline-fueled rush. “Hey, the Good Book says the shepherd protects his flock, right?”

“Right!” She grinned back. “But perhaps you’ll be staying inside today, after all? Stupidity isn’t inspirational.”

Glancing at the bullet holes in door and floor and hearing shouts and then gunfire echo down the street outside, he shrugged, then began checking what he already knew would be the flesh wound across his leg as Misaki gasped when she realized he’d been wounded. He said, “I think this time you’re right, at least until the shooting stops.”

/\

Tsukino Shingo was a deeply driven young man. This was actually an improvement over a year ago, when he had been a deeply _bitter_ young man. He had had a lot to be bitter about — that can happen when one is sold into slavery as a field hand at the age of twelve, then freed two years later as a part of the newly-ennobled Meioh-dono’s propaganda blitz only to be reunited with parents that were broken shells of their previous happy, loving selves and an older sister that had gone from being the happiest (and ditziest) girl he knew into a haunted, driven young woman determined to charge into battle and kill before being killed (however hard she tried to pretend otherwise around their parents). The world hated him, and he’d hated it back. That was why he had joined one of the numerous gangs forming in Juuban, to get back some of his own and not caring much how or from whom.

And then his gang had dropped by to jeer one of Father Bill’s weekly ‘soapbox’ preachings at a local park, and stayed to listen — he hadn’t sounded anything like what Shingo knew about the Empire’s native-born kurisuchan. (Though maybe that should be what he _thought_ he knew, he was beginning to suspect that there was more to the kurisuchan than honorless cowards rejecting everything Japanese.)

And _that_ had led to Shingo lurking around Father Bill’s church, sitting slumped in a doorway trying to stay awake as night turned into day, keeping an eye out for any suspicious strangers _also_ lurking around in a threatening manner ... whatever _that_ meant. ‘Driven’ got a little fuzzy after a long, tense, boring night.

He yawned, then grinned when movement in the corner of his eye yanked his attention to the church’s doorway, and the sight of Father Bill and Misaki standing at the top of the stairs. Father Bill would be taking his morning walk through the neighborhood, looking for homeless people he could give coupons for local eateries that had agreed to hand out meals he’d paid for (some eateries with great reluctance, and the good Father didn’t need to know how Shingo’s gang had convinced them to change their minds). The combined night and morning shifts would shadow him through the walk, then Father Bill would be back in his church and Shingo could head for his bed while —

The gunshots shattered the morning quiet, and Shingo bolted up out of the shop doorway even as Father Bill and Misaki fell back into the church. He started to run toward the church, but pulled himself up short after only a couple of steps. There were others in the church that would get to the preacher and girl (uh, _gang member_ ) as quickly as he could, but the shooter was still on the roof right ... there! He grinned at the brief glimpse of a gun barrel just as it was pulled back out of sight and ran for the ally that led to the rear of that particular strip of stores — and the fire escapes — pulling the revolver he’d been loaned out of his jacket pocket as he went.

/oOo\

Ryoga was awakened by sunlight on his face, and shot bolt upright on his futon before throwing back his blankets and kipping to his feet. The Crazy Lady (he had started capitalizing that label) had said that the attack would come in the morning ‘after breakfast’ but hadn’t said _when_ , and he hadn’t meant to sleep this late, what if she was already eating! He bolted from the ground floor guest room that Kasumi had set up for him the previous night, paused to listen, then relaxed at the sound of a knife on a cutting board coming from the kitchen across the hallway.

He stepped back into the guest room long enough to pull on his shirt (he’d kept on his pants overnight — as the Crazy Lady had said, unlikely things happen), then stepped across the hall to lean against the kitchen doorjamb to watch the eldest living Tendo bustle about, happily humming as she prepared their breakfast.

After a few moment she noticed his presence and blushed. “Ryoga, you’re up! My apologies, I’d expected to have breakfast ready when you awoke.”

Ryoga smiled. “No need to hurry, I’m enjoying watching a true Mistress exercise her Art.” Kasumi’s blush deepened, but she giggled slightly and was smiling as she turned back to her preparations. Ryoga grinned at her reaction, wondering how the Crazy Lady would have scored his effort — and whether it would have agreed with Kasumi’s.

/\

“— so then I decided to drop by, see how everything is going here.” ( _See how Ranma is doing_ , he didn’t add, his friendly rival’s mental condition just after the Nerima Blowout had scared him badly, and even now he still worried.) The previous night as they ate another of Kasumi’s masterpieces she had told him how everything that had happened since the last time he’d visited, so now as they ate at the family room’s low table it had been his turn to return the favor. He’d left out the parts about the Crazy Lady dropping into his life again, of course, and the attack she’d predicted, but through the entire breakfast he’d listened for the slightest hint of a sound out of place. However relaxed he hoped he’d managed to appear, he was ready to snatch up Kasumi at a moment’s notice and _run_.

Kasumi frowned as he finished as she considered his tale. “Ryoga,” he said hesitantly, “forgive me if I misunderstood, but it sounds as if you _chose_ to come here. Doesn’t your ... sense of direction prevent that?”

“Not anymore,” Ryoga replied, smiling broadly. “It turns out that my curse wasn’t a curse, but a blessing guiding me to wherever I need to go to get what I need for whatever I’m trying to do. Since I wanted to visit the dojo I just started walking, and shifted from place to place until I was here.” He waved his hands as if trying to give shape to what he was trying to say. “That was terrible. What I mean is —”

The sound of gunfire erupted from outside the front gate to the dojo compound, then the house shook as an explosion in the direction of the front door battered their ears. A gaping Kasumi was turning toward the explosion when she squeaked as Ryoga snatched her up and charged toward the doorway into the rest of the house.

Just as he reached it gunfire erupted in the hallway, but he hurled himself through at an angle toward the closed kitchen door, twisting to place his body between the gunfire and the young woman in his arms. Paired hammerblows to arm and side spun him around and he smashed into the door, thinking desperately, _We need to find Ranma, we need to find Ranma, we need_....

The kitchen door exploded into splinters and they were through.

/oOo\

Still damp from her early-morning shower — hurried by Akane’s call — a slightly bleary-eyed Usagi wearing a hastily thrown on touristy floral-patterned T-shirt and tight shorts hurried up to where Akane was sitting in a chair outside the beachfront entrance to her and Ranma’s temporary suite. Akane glanced up from where she had been smiling down at her daughter suckling at a breast, and Usagi felt the butterflies in her stomach treble at her friend’s uncertain smile. “Akane are you _certain_ about this?” she whispered.

Akane’s smile firmed. “Yes,” she instantly replied. “With us headed to the first plantation today there may not be the privacy to do this discreetly again, not before we get back home. And really, you’re terrible at innuendo, and I doubt Ranma would notice even if you’d mastered the art.”

That hadn’t been what Usagi had been asking, and for a moment the question hovered on her lips: _“No, should we just call this off?”_ But she just couldn’t bring herself to ask, so she simply nodded and slipped through the door into the suite. _You’re a horrible, selfish person to be doing this to Akane, and you’re going to be reincarnated as a_ toad _!_ she castigated herself as she glanced around the sitting room. _Why did you ever think this was a good idea, even if Akane came up with it?_ But that didn’t stop her from glancing through a door already slid open to find a kitchen before finding the bedroom, the bed’s sheets still rumpled from the previous night’s use and the sound of a shower coming from another open door. Ranma was taking the time to enjoy the break in their training schedule before loading up (or getting out of the way of the hired help while _they_ loaded up) and heading out.

The Once and Future Princess snuck into the room and quickly stripped off her damp T-shirt and shorts and tossed them on a chair, leaving herself dressed only in a lacy blue more translucent than usual bra and barely-there thong combination. She turned toward the bed, then hesitated — should she wait for Ranma to come out, or join her sensei in the shower? _Better to wait_ , she quickly decided, _I’ll have some explaining to do and that’ll be easier out here_. She sat on the edge of the bed with her hands clasped in her lap, and tried not to shake. That got even harder when the sound of the shower stopped.

/\

Shower finished (with the waterproof soap needed to keep his curse locked), a nude Ranma walked into the bedroom while toweling her hair, the door behind her automatically sliding closed to keep the muggy warm air in the bathroom. “Akane, what’re ya doin’ in here?” she said. “I thought you were gonna enjoy the sun with Uk —” She froze when she realized that the figure sitting on the bed _wasn’t_ Akane. Ranma instantly stopped drying her hair and whipped her towel around her torso while eyeing her student’s barely there underwear, and the heavy blush that accompanied it — the blonde’s skin was still pale enough even after the days at the beach that her heavy blush extending all the way down to the slope of her breasts was clearly visible. Usagi’s combination of fresh-faced ‘cute’ and sheer beauty took Ranma’s breath away, and the redhead hastily dropped her eyes to where her hands were adjusting her towel as she tried not to think of how that brief look was definitely going to be providing fodder for future late-night fantasies. She could already feel heat awakening between her legs. “Usagi, what’re ya doin’ here dressed like that?” she demanded. “If Akane catches ya like that she’s gonna get jealous, and believe me, you do _not_ want ta see what she’s like when she gets like that, it isn’t pretty.”

Usagi giggled. “No worries there,” she replied, “Akane’s just outside guarding the door, to make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

“Disturbed? Doin’ what?”

Usagi stared at the redhead, eyes wide, then glanced down at her skimpy, lacy underwear and began giggling again. “Akane’s right — I may be hopeless but you are _really_ oblivious.” Rising to her feet, she stepped forward, reached up to place a hand on each of Ranma’s cheeks, and leaned down to softly press her lips to her sensei’s. Breaking the kiss, she murmured, “What do you think?”

Ranma hastily stepped back. “You ... I ... Akane wouldn’t ... Why ... ?” she babbled.

Usagi stopped her with a gentle forefinger to her lips. “Ranma, Akane knows about how I’m in your dreams, knows how you ... you pleasure yourself afterward — as a girl,” she said, her voice serious in spite of the way her blush was actually deepening. “And she knows who you fantasize about when you do. She can’t give you everything you need, and she wants you to be happy.”

Ranma felt over to one side for the back of one of the chairs by the bedroom’s small table, then pulled it over and dropped onto it. “Akane _really_ knows about this?” she asked in stunned disbelief.

Usagi grinned as she plopped herself down on Ranma’s lap. “Knows about it? It was her idea! Woke me up in the middle of the night to recruit me, too.” She mock-pouted. “Not that it was all that hard, I’ve only been dreaming about you for a year, as much as you’ve been dreaming about me.”

“Uhhhh ... actually ... I haven’t been dreamin’ about you,” Ranma reluctantly admitted. “I’ve been dreamin’ ‘bout ... ‘bout my time with Kuno. I _have_ been usin’ fantasies a’ you to chase the dreams away, though.”

Usagi stared down at her upturned face, embarrassment, shock, concern, then sympathetic understanding crossing her face in rapid succession as Ranma spoke. She leaned down for another gentle kiss. “Then let me enhance those fantasies, help chase away the dreams,” she whispered.

After a long minute Ranma broke the kiss. “That one night, in Kuno’s dojo. Were ya comin’ on ta me?”

“Well ...” Usagi giggled. “You weren’t Kuno-dono, but even then I wouldn’t have been disappointed if you’d thought I was and decided to take me up on it. Remember, I didn’t know about Akane at the time.”

“And you’re _sure_ Akane’s okay with this?”

“Oh, yes. She’s been making early morning vid calls a habit ... though this morning’s wasn’t as early as the one where she told me I was going to be dropping everything to pay you a visit.” She wriggled off of Ranma’s lap and stepped back to strike the same saucy pose she’d used that night before the Nerima Blowout when she’d stripped naked for ‘Ranko’s’ pleasure. “Do you like the view? Akane helped me pick these out.”

Ranma’s hot gaze again travelled the length of Usagi’s body, and her eyes narrowed at the conflicting messages that body was sending — there was a growing dark spot on the barely-there thong, but she was shivering ever so slightly. “Usagi,” Ranma softly asked, “Are you really still a virgin?”

“Not physically, but yes,” Usagi’s fading blush flashed deep red again. “Change that? Please?”

Ranma hesitated for another long moment, then reached up to pull her towel loose and spread it wide to fall open to reveal her breasts. _Good thing this chair doesn’t have armrests_ , she thought as she spread her legs slightly to expose her own red patch and damp nether lips to Usagi’s view. “Com’ere.”

The breath Usagi had been unconsciously holding gusted out, then she rushed over and sat crosswise onto Ranma’s lap, smiling eagerly (and more than a bit nervously, however hard she tried to hide it).

With a chuckle ( _never_ a giggle!), Ranma gently grasped the back of Usagi’s head and pulled her down for another kiss — only _this_ time the redhead put all her year-long experience with Akane to use.

Even if her wife had proven unable to bring herself to make love to Ranma’s female form, their make-out sessions had always been intense and by the time the glassy-eyed Usagi broke off the kiss for lack of air her blush was no longer from embarrassment or nervousness. “Wow!” she gasped.

“And that’s just the beginning,” Ranma murmured, smiling up at the blonde, before pulling her head back down for yet another kiss. This time her tongue gently pushed against Usagi’s lips, then when those lips eagerly parted slipped into her mouth.

As her student moaned, her other hand found the clasp to the translucent bra between the breasts it enclosed, and when it fell open a moment later cupped a soft mound. Her thumb flicked across a crinkled-hard nipple and Usagi groaned into her mouth, one of the younger girl’s hands hesitantly roaming up and down Ranma’s side while the other cupped the back of her head. She could feel that hand shaking.

Ranma broke of the kiss and whispered in Usagi’s ear, “Relax, this time lemme lead, there’ll be plenty a’ later for you to learn the dance.” (Martial Arts Ballroom Dancing was good for nonviolent descriptive metaphors, if not much else.) She felt Usagi’s hair brush against her cheek when she jerked a nod, and waited until the hand resting against the back of her head steadied. “Ya ready?” she asked.

“Ye-esss!” Usagi hissed, voice rising as Ranma tweaked her nipple. The blonde shivered at the warmth of Ranma’s breath on her cheek when the redhead chuckled, then tossed her head back as Ranma dipped her head to capture that nipple between her lips.

The hand those lips had replaced dropped to Usagi’s lap, pushing her legs apart, and it was Ranma’s turn to shiver at the feel of the cool air on the wet spot on her leg where Usagi’s soaked-through thong had rested. Oh, yes, as nervous as Usagi might be, she was indeed _ready_.

Ranma slipped her hand under the thong, fingers brushing across Usagi’s distended clit, and the blonde writhed in her lap, clutching at her sensei and mashing her face into her breast with a keening cry as the first orgasm swept through her.

Smiling at the pleasure she was inflicting on her student, Ranma slid her hand out from under the thong and under Usagi’s legs as she rose to her feet, leaving the towel behind as she strode naked toward the bed. She murmured, “We won’t have long, so let’s —”

The bathroom door shattered as Ryoga staggered backward through it then twisted around, revealing Kasumi in his arms. “Ranma —” he started to shout, then broke off at the sight of the naked redhead with Usagi in her arms.

The two pairs gaped at each other, barely noticing the sound of Akane entering the suite shouting questions, then a furiously blushing Kasumi buried her equally furious giggles in the angle of Ryoga’s neck.

Akane burst through the door from the suite’s sitting room, took one look at the scene, and facepalmed with the hand that wasn't holding Ukyo.  “Only you, Ranma....”


	14. Enforced Vacation

Nabiki slowly came half-awake, blinking in the early morning light seeping around the curtains of her suite. Something ... her personal tablet chimed again from where she’d left it on the bedside table, and she sighed as she snuggled against the warmth pressed along her back, luxuriating in the feel of silk sheets on bare skin. She should have put her phone on ‘do not disturb’. Then her eyes shot open, abruptly as awake as if she’d been doused with cold water — because she _had_ put her phone on ‘do not disturb’.

Throwing off the thin sheets covering her and Kodachi, she rolled over her lover to scrabble for her tablet. Finally snatching it up, she hit the ‘emergency accept’ button on the screen and felt her heart stop when it the window that opened revealed Ru Pei, the head of the Amazon security detail guarding the Tendo dojo. And a woman that looked as if she’d rather be dead than reporting to her boss.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Ru Pei started speaking in faintly accented Japanese. “Tendo-san, there was an attack on the dojo this morning,” she reported. “A delivery van with the markings of a local furniture store that has regularly passed by on the street stopped in front of the gate entrance and a shaped charge placed on the lock. We immediately took the van under fire, but the sides were armored and without a warrior on the dojo roof we were unable to target the side of the van facing the dojo.”

Nabiki suppressed a wince; the Amazons had requested permission to place a guard there when they were first hired, and had been refused. Those of the dojo’s inhabitants that were able to think rationally at all at the time (mainly Nabiki and Nodoka) had wanted life to be as ‘normal’ — or at least as quiet — as possible for those that weren’t.

Ru Pei continued, “We immediately attacked, but thanks to two of the attackers acting as a rear guard were unable to prevent the rest from getting into the house. I am afraid the damage to the interior was extensive.”

It was all Nabiki could do not to shout at the tablet — like she cared about the house — but couldn’t bring herself to speak. The tablet in her hand began to shake. Then her lover’s arms circled her waist, and Kodachi rested her chin on her shoulder, nuzzling against her cheek. The Meioh heir whispered, “Easy, you’re the Ice Queen.”

Nabiki jerked a nod and took a deep breath to ask the question that terrified her, only to be preempted by Ru Pei.

“Tendo-san, has Kasumi somehow joined you? We cannot find her within the grounds of the dojo. The last we saw her was when she returned from ‘shopping’ ” — meaning the firing range, Nabiki knew — “yesterday afternoon. Nobody and nothing else went in or out of the compound before the attack, but she simply isn’t here.”

Nabiki stared at her subordinate for a long moment, then gusted out the breath she’d taken. “No, she isn’t. All right, I’ll take it from here. No dishonor to any of you for the attack, you warned me of how vulnerable the dojo is and I didn’t listen. Were any of your people hurt?”

“Dung Jen and Te Ching were shot and Sang Bau stabbed, but nothing life-threatening or permanent.”

“Good. I imagine the police should be arriving any moment, give them your full cooperation and get your wounded to the hospital. I’ll start the hunt for —”

She was interrupted by pounding on the outside door to her and Kodachi’s suite. Akane’s excited voice: “Nabiki, let us in!”

She closed her eyes briefly. _How am I going to tell Akane about this?_

Akane pounded on the door again. “Nabiki, open up, Kasumi’s here!”

Nabiki’s eyes flew open. Without bothering to terminate the call, she tossed her tablet onto the bed and threw herself out of the bedroom and at the outside door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. She only vaguely noticed the presence of Ranma, Usagi and Ryoga alongside Akane with little Ukyo in her mother’s arms, she was too busy staring at her older sister. Then she stepped forward and threw her arms around a very startled Kasumi. “You’re all right!”

Kasumi stiffened in shock at the emotional outburst from her normally controlled, even cold sister, then her expression softened and she gently returned the embrace. “Yes, little sis, thanks to Ryoga I’m fine.”

Twisting slightly to the side to look at Ryoga, Nabiki announced, “I owe you for this, big guy, and Tendo Nabiki always pays her debts.” _At least, I do now_. The last thing she needed as the Empire’s youngest Otokodate boss was a reputation for being ruthless _and_ untrustworthy. Then she frowned. The Lost Boy was staring off to one side, face red, and ... “Ryoga, your nose is bleeding, you didn’t take a hit to the head while saving Kasumi, did you?”

Akane had a sudden coughing fit. Ranma glanced sideways at her wife, then said, “Uh, Nabiki ... you’re naked. And you smell.”

From where she was now lounging against the bedroom doorframe, an equally naked, smirking Kodachi said, “A night of hot, steamy sex will do that to you.” She turned back to pick up Nabiki’s tablet from the bed and asked a grinning Ru Pei, “You heard all that?”

“Yes, Kasumi has joined you thanks to Ryoga.”

“Good, Nabiki will call you back as soon as she has more for you.”

“Wait!” Kodachi paused at Nabiki’s shout, her thumb hovering over the button that would end the call, and Nabiki said, “Ru Pei, when the police arrive, _Kasumi was not home_. She decided she wanted a _private_ vacation with no media coverage, so after we left you personally smuggled her out. You don’t know how to contact her, if the police want to talk to her they need to contact me. Got it?”

“Got it, good thinking,” Ru Pei replied. “I’ll make sure to send you any details I invent for the police.”

“Great.”

At Nabiki’s nod, Kodachi ended the call and laid the tablet back onto the bed, then rose from the bed and sauntered toward the bathroom. “I’m grabbing a shower,” she announced.

“I’ll join you,” Nabiki called, then grinned at the slightly glassy-eyed looks on Ranma and Ryoga’s faces — and Usagi’s. “Don’t let your imaginations run _too_ wild,” she said over her shoulder as she turned to follow, adding a slight swing of her own to her firm buttocks. “We have some serious business to discuss when Ko-chan and I are done.”

/\

Nabiki strode out of the bathroom, Kodachi right behind her, the pair now wrapped in towels and drying their hair with another. In spite of her insinuation before, except for some nips and tickles (Kodachi effectively distracting her from thoughts of the assault on her sister) she and Kodachi had actually focused on washing each other clean so they hadn’t been that long.

The two girls were headed for the closet where they’d stored their clothes, when Ranma called out, “Hey, Nabs, ya had another call, yer phone wouldn’t let us answer it.”

“Really?” Nabiki turned away from the closet to walk over and pick up her tablet from the bedside table. She frowned when she saw the alibi for the number — yup, one of the numbers her phone app wouldn’t let through without identification. “Hiroshi? What could he want?” she mused. She discarded her towels and started pulling on her underwear, to be followed by tight shorts and a t-shirt. She made sure Ryoga could see her through the open bedroom door and winked at him when he choked — this was fun!

 _Don’t get too used to it, you can’t act like this at home_ , she reminded herself. _You’re supposed to be respectable now, at least when you’re_ officially _in public_. Still, this vacation had been fun. Maybe she should take Kodachi’s route on a more permanent basis, act just respectable enough to remain acceptable in polite company, while tweaking the noses of the more uptight nobility? Of course, part of the reason Kodachi could get away with it was the sheer wealth and power that her adopted mother brought to the table — except for the most powerful of the daimyo, no one in their right mind would offer insult to Meioh-dono. If that meant putting up with her scandalous daughter they’d just have to grin and bear it. _Though if I attach_ myself _to the same rising star, even more than I already am_....

She put the thought aside for another time, and glanced over at Kodachi. On finding her lover fully if skimpily dressed in a tiny purple dress, she nodded toward the door. “Privacy seal on this one, Ko-chan, for both our sakes.”

Kodachi lifted an eyebrow, and it was all Nabiki could do to keep her gaze steady as she realized it was the first time she’d used that intimate version of her lover’s name in private – when they weren’t putting on a show. But Kodachi simply nodded and walked out the door, sliding it closed behind her.

Nabiki stared at the closed door for a long moment, before turning to her personal bag. Pulling out a small white noise generator disguised as a jewelry box, she activated it then picked up her tablet. She made sure her Ice Queen face was solidly in place, then a quick password and thumbprint tested for body temperature later a window opened up to reveal Hiroshi.

“So,” Nabiki said, said without preamble, “what was so important that you interrupted my working vacation?”

/\

Nabiki walked into the front room and immediately found herself the center of attention of everyone else — concerned attention, at that. Looking around and not finding any empty seats, she sauntered over and sat on Kodachi’s lap and snuggled up against her as her lover’s arms circled her waist. Her expression, however, was serious. She announced, “There was an assassination attempt on Father Bill this morning.”

“ ... Who’s Father Bill?” Akane demanded from where she sat beside Usagi, with Ranma on their friend’s other side.

Usagi spoke up: “An American priest that has a church in Juuban.” When everyone turned to look at her, she shrugged. “My brother Shingo’s mentioned him in his emails. He really likes him.”

“Shingo’s your brother?” Nabiki asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “Well, if he’s the Shingo that’s running with a gang in Juuban, he got into a shoot-out with the would-be assassins.” Usagi stiffened in shock, and Nabiki hastily added, “He’s fine, though he’s in police custody at the moment — one of the assassins is dead and the other in the hospital. But he won’t be charged with anything, the police are going to trace the gun back to a street samurai working for Mori — Juuban’s otokodate boss, for now. Apparently, one of the assassins dropped it and Shingo picked it up.”

Usagi had the oddest expression, worry, shame and pride chasing each other across her face. She opened her mouth several times, but closed it each time without saying anything. Akane shifted Ukyo to one arm and slipped the other around Usagi’s waist, and the blonde finally sighed and leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I really don’t know how to react to that,” she admitted.

“Be proud,” Nabiki instantly replied. “With the courage, initiative and quick thinking your brother showed he’s going to be moving up the chain, and thanks to Father Bill he won’t be just another jumped up gurentai with delusions of grandeur.”

Shifting her attention to Ryoga, she said, “You’ve gotten control of your wandering curse, haven’t you?” At his surprised nod, she chuckled. “Thought so, I always suspected that the way you showed up last year just on time to save our lives was a little suspicious, and now this morning — you haven’t become a precognitive, have you?” At his blank look, she explained, “The ability to see the future.”

Eyes widening, Ryoga frantically shook his head. Nabiki suppressed a frown — his rejection had been stronger than she’d expected. And had Usagi stiffened? _Later, not important right now_. She continued. “You can tell us all about it later, right now I have another request — I’d like you to take Kasumi on that private vacation I mentioned to Ru Pei.”

“What?!”

Nabiki waved her hands at the simultaneous shout from everyone present except Kodachi. “Wait, wait, wait! Let me explain. Kasumi, you heard my instructions to the Amazons at the dojo, the only way to explain your absence to the police is to say you weren’t there to begin with, so you can’t go home — like it or not, you’re getting that vacation.” She waited until Kasumi reluctantly nodded, then shifted her attention.

“Ryoga, Kasumi can’t join us. The tabloid sharks know exactly who has come along on this working vacation, and if she pops up out of nowhere they’re going to report it. So if you could take her on an extended trip around the world, we’ll owe you even more — not that we can repay you what we already owe, but hey!” She shrugged.

“But I had to leave my backpack behind, I don’t have a tent, stove, anything until I can replace it,” he protested. “I’m going to be living rough for _me_ , much less Kasumi.”

Nabiki stiffened as she realized that the huge backpack that was his constant companion was missing, then relaxed. _Okay, so the police will know how Kasumi got away, but will accept the Amazons’ story at face value for public consumption_. _Why didn’t the Amazons recognize it themselves when they searched the place?_ A quick review, and she realized that none of Ryoga’s visits over the past year had involved him actually entering the grounds through the outside gates, the Amazons had never seen him. _Focus!_ “Right, hold on,” she replied. She wriggled out of Kodachi’s embrace and dashed for the bedroom. Returning a minute later, she handed Ryoga a card and Kasumi another card and a cell phone.

“Here’s cash cards, untraceable. Stock up everything you both need — far away from here.” She glanced at an ornate clock on the wall. “Stores will still be open on the US Pacific coast. Kasumi, hold on to the phone, I’ll call when it’s time to come home. But don’t hold your breath, it’s going to be a few weeks at least.” _Especially since we won’t be moving back into the dojo_. But she didn’t have the heart to say that to the closest person she had to a mother figure, not the way Kasumi loved their home. “Call me if you need more funds, I’ll let you know when it’s safe to drop by without being seen.”

Ryoga and Kasumi exchanged shy glances. The eldest Tendo was blushing faintly, and Nabiki had to suppress another grin. _It seems big sis’s bed time with Ranma hasn’t made her any more outgoing. Though maybe she’s thinking of branching out?_ A little while ago that would have been inconceivable, but after sharing Ranma’s bed.... The pair nodded almost simultaneously.

“Great! Let’s get you on your way.”

Kasumi quickly hugged her sisters and ‘sister’-in-law and Usagi, then took Ryoga’s offered hand and followed him through the bedroom door, closing it behind them.

Nabiki waited a few moments, then opened the door to reveal an empty room. Ruefully shaking her head, she turned back to the rest. “That’s that, let’s get packed. I’m going to have to hold an impromptu press conference to pass on the usual platitudes for a situation like this, and we still have a plantation to drop in on today.”

“You’re still doin’ that?” Ranma asked, then when Nabiki cocked an eyebrow added, “I mean, an attack on the dojo an’ on one a’ your people in Juuban at the same time? It’s obviously aimed at you. Aren’t ya headin’ home ta deal with it?”

“A wise woman told me that the secret to proper upper management is to find subordinates you can trust and then trust them. Besides, we brought Dr. Mizuno along for a reason, and I can’t just drop it.” Nabiki waved her hands, shooing them toward the door. “Go, go! Oh, and don’t mention any of this to Nodoka, I’ll pass the word that Kasumi’s fine and brief her on the rest in private when I get the chance.”

/\

“So, how was Ranma?” a smiling Ami asked when Usagi strode through the door of the suite the two were sharing. She had been reduced to gaping silence when Usagi finally broke down under her questioning about what was obviously going on between her, Ranma and Akane (to her, at least, but she knew Usagi as well as anyone these days). Once she recovered from her shock, though, Ami had begun gently teasing her princess in private.

But now her smile vanished when Usagi’s grim expression registered. Usagi slashed a hand across her throat, and Ami turned to scrabble in her personal bag before pulling out a white noise generator identical to Nabiki’s, though disguised as a portable music player. She activated it, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s more like what’s right, and the answer is not much,” Usagi replied, before relating what had just happened — though mostly skipping the prelude to Ryoga’s arrival, all the while blushing furiously. Story finished, she said, “Ryoga’s reaction to Nabiki’s suggestion that he could see the future was too strong. But what if he’s telling the truth? What if _he_ isn’t the one that can see the future?”

“Pluto!” Ami exclaimed.

“Yes, Pluto. We know she was playing games during the Nerima Blowout, I think she may be playing games again.”

“Perhaps.” Ami frowned thoughtfully. “Are you going to call her on it?”

Usagi considered it for a time, then finally shook her head. “No, not yet. If it was her I can’t complain about the results, after all. Just think of it: ‘Setsuna, how dare you save Kasumi’s life! No cookies for you!’ ”

Ami giggled. “So we let it go and keep an eye out for ... less benign interventions?”

Usagi paused, reconsidering, then nodded. “Yes. Come on, let’s finish packing.”


	15. Passing the Buck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was looking over my stories and realized that when I was adding fresh chapters to my stories on hiatus I missed this one. So, here it is!
> 
> As an irrelevant aside (a Useless Fact, to use the Animaniacs label), the slang I used for the for chapter title is said to have come from pre-Civil War riverboat gambling. They'd have a marker called a buck (originally a buck-handled knife, _not_ a buck knife) placed in front of the player currently dealing so everyone would know who it was. If a player didn't want to deal when his turn came up, he would "pass the buck."

Hiroshi stared at the blank screen of his tablet, his mind just as blank ... such as wasn’t charging off in random directions. When he’d called Nabiki to inform her of the attack on Father Bill he’d expected her to rush home, _not_ to tell him to deal with it, that she had enough on her own plate for the next few weeks! What did he do _now?_ What would Nabiki do?

The image of Nabiki and Kodachi enthusiastically ... ah, _frolicking_ on a beach popped into his head — the video he’d seen (along with the rest of the Empire, it seemed from the rapidly climbing number of views). He blinked, blushed, and fervently hoped that Nabiki never learned he’d downloaded it. He’d deleted it and scrubbed that bit of his tablet’s memory, but he wasn’t sure that was enough to fool a determined hacker of Nabiki’s caliber.

But at least the memory jogged his mind back into motion. _Okay ... first thing, security. The almost-simultaneous attacks on Father Bill and Kasumi can’t be a coincidence, so who else might be at risk?_ The Tendos (including ‘Ranko’) and their guests were both well off the island — Mori, the otokodate boss most likely to have ordered the attacks, had extensive territories (including Juuban) but only on the largest Nipponese island — and had the Amazons for security — in case the attacks had been ordered by someone with a longer reach (unknown enemies of _Meioh-dono_ came to mind) — so they should be fine. Including Kasumi, thanks to Ryoga being in the right place at the right time.

Hiroshi could feel himself relaxing as he realized that, at least for the moment, there were no immediate fires that needed to be put out — just a general alert to everyone in Nabiki’s nascent organization, and he’d sent that out before he’d called her. _So, that leaves the question of_ who _carried out the attack, and for that the best starting place are the assassins_. He refocused on his tablet, bringing up the link to the Neriman and Juuban police databases, typing in the needed password.

/oOo\

Mori Hachemon woke up as the door to his bedroom slid open and his majordomo peeked in. “My pardon for waking you, sir,” he murmured, “but Sanda-san is on the com. He needs to speak to you immediately.”

Hachemon groaned but sat up ... carefully, to avoid waking up Sué, his latest mistress. The previous evening she’d informed him that she was pregnant again, and they’d celebrated their unalloyed happiness late into the night. She needed her sleep now, more than he did.

Slipping out of the bed, he padded naked toward the bathroom. “I’ll take the call in the library.”

A few minutes later, bladder empty and wearing his finest robe, he settled at his favorite chair and pressed the ‘accept’ key on his table. His ‘on hold’ wallpaper cleared to reveal the worried face of his second. “Boss, sorry to bother you, I know you were up late celebrating.”

Hachemon wondered for a moment how Michio had known, before remembering that Hyun Ku Sin had woken him up — Sué got _loud_ when she peaked, so by now all the servants would know how late they’d been; his majordomo had undoubtedly warned Michio before passing the word. Shrugging aside the irrelevancy, he asked, “So what new terrible crisis has beset us?”

“It’s more like a continuation of an old one. Two of our gurentai, Konda Tagashashi and Sawamatsu Ho’okele, tried to kill Father Bill this morning. He survived, Konda is dead and Sawamatsu is in police custody. They’re both native to Juuban, and Takado-dono has already called in their families’ debts.”

Hachemon felt his expression freeze as a lump of ice seemed to blossom in his chest. Keeping his voice steady, he asked, “You did pass on that we’re pulling out of Juuban?”

“Yes.” Hachemon felt the lump of ice grow when his second didn’t loudly defend his competence. Michio continued, “It gets worse. There was an attack on the Tendo residence at almost the same time — Tendo _Kasumi_ had to be the target, seeing how after yesterday all the _Empire_ must know that Nabiki is in Daerah Selatan on a working vacation along with the rest of the family.” By this time Hachemon must have looked positively sick, because his lieutenant hastily added, “Kasumi wasn’t home, apparently she’d wanted a _private_ vacation and the Amazons Nabiki’s hired as bodyguards smuggled her out after the rest had left. But the Amazons killed all the attackers, and the lording police have already identified them ... they were the Idane Squad.”

Hachemon closed his eyes for a moment in dismay. “We weren’t the only ones they worked for,” he finally said.

“True, they did take other jobs ... when we didn’t have anything for them. _Short_ jobs. And they were the only ronin _we_ worked with.”

Opening his eyes with a sigh, Hachemon smiled wryly at his old friend. “At least Kasumi’s still alive, if she’d been killed I doubt we would have outlived her for long.”

“You really think so?” Michio frowned thoughtfully. “Sure, the Ice Queen would probably assume we were behind it and come after us with everything she has, but —”

“But we would be swarmed by Nerima’s martial artists. Nabiki hasn’t used any yet, but to avenge her sister she’d pull out _all_ the stops. And you saw how close the Tendos have become to Meioh-dono.”

“Yes, _very_ close,” Michio agreed dryly. “But why does that matter? Meioh-dono may have inherited a powerful lording, but she’s new to power, she’s been downsizing for almost a year to something more sustainable, and ... ‘the Commoner’s Lady’, she’s been operating with a light touch.”

But Hachemon was shaking his head. “Forget that ‘Commoner’s Lady’ nonsense — at least thinking that it means that she can’t be ruthless. She didn’t rise to the top of our fashion industry on just the strength of her designs and a soft heart. She may be choosing to use Nabiki as her public executioner, but that doesn’t mean she can’t provide covert support — don’t forget that Takado-dono is _her_ first vassal, not Nabiki’s, at least in practice. And as the Commoner’s Lady, she has possible recruits for spies and espionage throughout the entire Empire that no one else has. And she may even have the Emperor’s approval, if not necessarily his support. She is _dangerous_.”

Michio had been growing pale, and now he swallowed nervously. “Right, so what do we do?”

/oOo\

Hiroshi sat in his room, staring at the glass in his hand. It was half full of the worst rotgut he’d ever tasted, brewed locally for the poorest of the poor, but it was hardest liquor he could find. And he’d already refilled the glass twice. The discussion he’d had with Father Bill, that night that the Mori gurentai had first tried to lean on the preacher, kept running through his mind. He hadn’t changed his mind about the Nipponese character that made it necessary to go after families, but he was finding that personally giving the order was a lot harder than just talking about it — and _he_ had been the one to pass the family names of the two would-be assassins on to Takado-dono’s people.

 _At least the ronin that attacked the dojo weren’t native to Nerima or Juuban_ , he thought as he knocked back his glass’s contents. _We won’t be calling in any debts_ their _families might have_. He’d made the mistake of actually looking up the files on Tagashashi and Ho’okele’s families ... including photos and video clips.

He was in the middle of refilling his glass when the musical bars sounded informing him that Yui was calling, the heavy beat startling him enough to send a splash of booze across the table. Setting aside the bottle, he grabbed his tablet and punched the ‘accept’ button. As soon the window with her face popped open he snarled, “I thought I said I wasn’t to be disturbed!”

Yui shrugged. “Sorry, I know how much you wanted to enjoy your pity party.”

Hiroshi sighed, leaning back and rubbing at his face. “I know. It’s just ... a year ago a bunch of us charged into the Kuno mansion because of this kind of shit, my best friend right behind me. Only he didn’t make it out. Now we’re on the opposite side and Moani, Ho’okele’s younger sister, is just beginning to shift from ‘too cute for words’ to ‘unspeakably beautiful’ — when she goes on the block as a full-use slave to keep the rest of her family from starving the bidding on her is going to be _intense_.”

Yui’s eyes softened, and she reached to the side to pull the staff that had become the badge of Nerimans everywhere into view. “I know. I was there, too. How drunk are you? We’ve got someone on the line that claims to speak for the Mori otokodate.”

“You do?” Hiroshi straightened in his seat. “Who is he?”

“He didn’t say, I didn’t ask. It’s not like it would mean anything to me.”

“Point. I’m not that drunk, put him through.” A moment later the face in the screen changed to reveal a man, the camera far enough away to show his business-suit-clad upper torso and the surface of the table he was sitting at. Hiroshi straightened even more, then hurriedly placed the tablet on a stand facing him. That done, he ducked his head in a slight bow, taking the opportunity to glance at the corner of his tablet’s screen for the ‘record’ icon. He was _very_ glad Nabiki had had him memorizing names and faces of the more important people in the Empire’s underworld. “When Yui told me a spokesman for the Mori otokodate was calling, I wasn’t expecting the second most powerful man in your organization.”

Sanda Michio’s face showed none of the surprise Hiroshi was feeling ... or anything else. “I was expecting to speak to the Ice Queen.”

“She left me in charge while she deals with her recent acquisitions. She left me in charge.”

Now one eyebrow rose. “Yes, after that recent video the entire Empire knows where she is. But I would have thought she would be rushing back after this morning’s attacks.”

Hiroshi stared at him for a moment, then shrugged with a grin. “So did I, but she told me to deal with it.”

“She did?” Sanda stared at him, then smiled thinly. “It seems we’re both talking to the second-most powerful people in our respective organizations.”

Hiroshi froze, mind gone blank. Sanda watched him for a long moment, then started to chuckle. “The thought never occurred to you, did it? Ah, how _liberating_ it must be to belong to a _newly-formed_ criminal enterprise.”

Hiroshi shook himself free of his shock, and grinned weakly. “Uh ... yeah, I guess so. I was thinking my promotion was temporary — but if she likes my performance it won’t be, will it? Anyway, unless you want to wait a few weeks I’m the guy you gotta talk to. And I kinda doubt we can wait that long.”

“No, we can’t.” Sanda sobered. Leaning forward, he said, “To speak plainly, the Mori otokodate is _not_ responsible for the attacks this morning.”

Hiroshi’s eyes widened. “Really? Because the gurentai that tried to kill Father Bill worked for you.”

“Yes,” Sanda agreed, “and so did the ronin that assaulted the Tendo compound ... well, mostly. They did take the occasional outside job, when things were slow. But not often.”

“I see.” Hiroshi grinned. “You aren’t helping your case.”

Sanda shrugged. “No, but facts are what they are, and easy enough to check. They must have been suborned, somehow. Yesterday, after the video of Nabiki cavorting with Kodachi on the beach went viral, Mori-san decided not to contest control of Juuban. I sent out the order for everyone to pull out of the lording myself.”

“I see,” Hiroshi repeated, lips twitching. Who knew that a video of girl-on-girl sex could shut down a burgeoning gang war? Then pushing aside the moment of humor, he leaned back, frowning thoughtfully, mind racing as he tried to remember all the side comments Nabiki had made that, in retrospect, might have been a subtle education in power and its uses. “We can’t just take your word for this. If you want to avoid a war, restitution must be made — they were your people, after all, even if someone else might have been calling the shots.”

“Agreed.”

“Restitution for Father Bill’s medical bills, and for the cost of repairing the Tendo compound.”

“Agreed.”

Hiroshi blinked. That instant acceptance was not what he’d been expecting. Though he supposed any otokodate as large as the Mori had funds in plenty. He needed something else, something to make Sanda wince.... “Preachers like Father Bill in your territory bordering Juuban, without interference. We’ll supply protection if needed.”

It was Sanda’s turn to blink. He stared at Hiroshi for a long moment, before demanding, “Why? With their pacifism Kirishitan preachers make poor recruiting tools, just the opposite.”

“No, they make _fine_ recruiting tools, if their religion is as ... muscular ... as Father Bill’s. Whatever else he may be, he is no pacifist. But it only works if you provide an organization — a cause — equal to the fire he lights in those that listen to him.”

Sanda’s eyes narrowed. “And you believe that will be you?”

“Yes.” Hiroshi leaned forward. “We are the true otokodate. We will protect the common people from _all_ who abuse them.” He stared sternly at Sanda for a moment, then grinned. “Which will make us attractive to the common people as we expand our territory.”

Sanda leaned back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at Hiroshi. “It seems Meioh-dono isn’t the only one seeking the title of the Commoners’ Lady,” he finally mused. “Should you really be telling me all this?”

Hiroshi shrugged. “As you said, facts are facts — and it’ll be obvious soon enough, anyway. Besides, it’s too late — at this point crushing us would take so much firepower it can’t possibly stay in the shadows. It might even attract ... _imperial_ attention.” When Sanda paled, Hiroshi grinned again. “Of course, there’s an easy way to protect yourself from us, just become more like us in how you operate. After all, it’ll be hard for us to get popular support in your territory if you already enjoy it.”

After another long moment of silence, Sanda murmured, “You aren’t an organization, you’re a _movement_.”

“There’s no reason we can’t be both. You can, too.” Hiroshi grinned as another thought occurred to him. “In fact, I think I’m going to make it a condition of our cease-fire — when members of Tagashashi and Ho’okele’s families got on the block so the rest can survive you will buy every one of them, and then free them immediately. _All_ of them, whatever the cost — especially Moani.”

“That’s going to be expensive,” Sanda mused, “ _especially_ Moani.”

“Yes, it will,” Hiroshi agreed. “And won’t it make you look good?”

“Yes, it will.” Sanda considered the demand for a moment, then shrugged. “As expensive as that is, it won’t cost as much as a mutually suicidal war.” When Hiroshi puffed out a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging slightly, Sanda grinned. “You didn’t do badly, for your first time. I’ll pass on your demands to Mori-san, but I believe he’ll agree to them.”

“I’ll pass them on to Nabiki as well.” As Sanda reached toward his tablet, Hiroshi hastily added, “I’m sure she’ll want to verify your claims that you didn’t order the attacks yourself. If — when — they prove out, I imagine when she returns she’ll want to discuss a united front against whoever tried to set us at each other’s throats.”

Sanda paused for a moment at the statement, then nodded. “Not a bad thought. I’ll pass that on to Mori-san as well, we will be awaiting your call.”

His image vanished from Hiroshi’s tablet, and he reached out with a suddenly shaking hand to close his phone app. Only now, he realized he was drenched with sweat. _Let’s not do that again anytime soon_. He took some deep breaths, waited for the shivers running through him to ease off, then brought up his notes app. Nabiki would watch the entire recording of their conversation, of course (probably split screen so she could watch both him and Sanda at once), but she might want his own impressions. Best to get them down right away.

/oOo\

Michio’s image vanished from his tablet, replaced by Hachemon’s ‘thinking’ music playlist of quiet, soothing, _peaceful_ pieces. Hachemon leaned back with a sigh as he considered the cease-fire that his second had worked out with Tendo’s second — a second they hadn’t known she had (and neither had the second, apparently).

As deals went it wasn’t bad. Yes, they’d be paying for Father Bill’s medical bills, but that was just a flesh wound. Yes, they’d be paying for the damage done to the Tendo compound, but again that was a pittance. From the lording police reports he’d acquired, the compound hadn’t had any kind of armoring, just an undamaged stone wall that the Idane Squad had ignored to go through the _wooden_ front gate, to attack a _wooden_ home residence — a pitiful defense, but cheap to repair. (Hachemon doubted they’d stay that way for long, after this.) And yes, he’d have to buy a couple families at auction and free them, the costliest part of the deal. (Like Hiroshi, Hachemon had seen photos of Moani and she was going to be _expensive_.) But as Hiroshi had told Michio, it would make them look good to his own people. Maybe even good enough to balance out the cost, as much as that kind of good will and loyalty could be measured. No, the Mori otokodate had definitely gotten off lightly.

Which meant that he could turn his thoughts to the _other_ bombshell Michio had dropped on him. _Nabiki’s starting a movement ... no, that’s too ... too passive, what was that English word? — a_ crusade _! In the_ Empire _, of all places. After two millennia, who’d have thought it? Whoever tried to set us at each other’s throats, that’s who!_

The soothing calm his music had encouraged shattered and unable to stay still, he jerked to his feet, shaking with the anger that flashed through him — someone had tried to crush the nascent Meioh-Tendo crusade (and it had to be both of them, working in tandem) with _his_ people’s blood, _his_ treasure!

He found himself gasping for breath and fought for control. He had to be calm, collected, _in control_ when he called his hackers to start digging. And after that, he would be calling his sensei in the martial Arts for an impromptu training session — he wanted to hit something _very, very_ badly and might as well put it to use.


End file.
